


Insanity

by russianwinter013



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gore, Implied Cannibalism, Mental Instability, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianwinter013/pseuds/russianwinter013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows about the typical insane criminal Jazz and the stoic Enforcer Prowl. But what if the cards were flipped? What if our beloved emotionless Praxian was the insane one? With nothing in his way, he continues to wreak havoc on a Cybertron plunging into darkness and chaos. But what if there was someone who could suppress this madmech? What if one mech could stop his actions before he became the most dangerous and largest serial killer the metal world has ever seen? Will the madmech be stopped, or will the world as they know it finally come to a gruesome end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alarms blared, nearly overriding his enhanced audio receptors with useless and distracting noise.

He was racing down the hall, sensors alert and watching for anything that would show that he was being followed.

"You there! Halt!"

Glancing over his shoulder panel, he noticed the two massive and heavily-armed mechs thundering their way towards him.

With a vent of slight irritation, he subspaced the merchandise and extended his dual Energon blades. The first mech charged at him, swinging as if he were attempting to use his servo as a battering ram. The intruder ducked easily, using his smaller size to his advantage, and slid between the guard's legs, ending up behind him. The guard, being the idiot that he was, made the mistake of turning once more to face him. Rearing back, the small intruder executed a roundhouse kick that sent the guard flying across the room and slamming into the wall with a harsh thud as his armor cracked. Having dealt with him, the streamlined intruder turned to the other.

This guard was smaller but still towered over him. He seemed to use his processor to actually form an attack as he moved in a flurry of blurred movements, giving the impression of striking and falling back, using stronger and more vicious attacks each time.

He chuckled.  _Looks like he's received some proper training._ Ducking and vanishing from view suddenly, the guard was slightly shocked as the smaller mech ended up on his back, latching his arms around his neck. The guard was a winged mech, a Kaonian hybrid by the looks, and his wings were a liability. Twisting in an impossible movement, showing off his extreme flexibility, the small mech raked razor claws through the large and flared appendages, inwardly cringing at the pained and rumbling cry that came from the other. Pulling a syringe from a compartment on his servo, he plunged the needle deep into the struggling and dazed mech's neck, leaping off as he collapsed.

Optics darting, the mech heard the telltale signs of more guards coming. Eyeing the ventilation compartments above him, he climbed up the wall and crawled through the vents, inwardly smirking as he made off with the package. 

A lone mech, tall with gray-blue armor and golden optics, bounded around the corner, his vents heavy and labored. Taking in the scene of disaster, his vocalizer let out an involuntary whine as he ran his servos over his faceplate in distress.

_Master's going to kill me._

* * *

They were all lined up, shoulder panel to shoulder panel, faceplates revealing no emotion whatsoever.

Their optics followed the movements of the one mech standing before them. Dreading the worse, they all knew that they had something to fear.

Master was not a pleasant mech when he was angry.

Finally ceasing his pacing, the enormous mech remained silent and motionless. 

The room was deathly silent, still and cold. The taste and presence of fear and worry was palpable in the chilled, toxic air.

A rumbling baritone reverberated throughout the room. Wings flared wide, and a powerful and threatening engine growled.

"Explain."

The largest mech, a towering leviathan of a Cybertronian, spoke up. "There was an intruder, sir, and--" He cut off suddenly as he was pinned to the wall, large and sharp claws digging into his neck cabling. 

 The monster snarled, optics narrowing as he took in the other's guarded fear. "I know  _what_ happened. What I want to know is  _why_ and  _how_ it happened."

"We were caught off guard. There was no way of knowing that the intruder would enter and take what he did." The massive guard was nervous, extremely nervous, and he kept his optics carefully lowered to the taller mech's chest armor, a method all of his employees used not to incur the wrath of the madmech.

Said madmech was silent for a moment, his amber optics glazing over. The tense silence increased, and then the guard gasped as the grip around his neck tightened.

"Did you manage to catch a glimpse of the intruder?" The guard did not respond, fearing what was to come inevitably. He cringed as the casing of his neck began to collapse in on itself, the Energon lines beneath the armor beginning to tear.  _"Did you?"_

"Y-Yes, Master." He nodded as much as he could with the iron grip restraining him.

The large mech purred deeply, optics flashing as he spoke in an eerily calm voice. "Good. Very good." Suddenly there was a sharp pain in the back of the restrained mech's helm, and his optics widened in brief shock as he gaped at his commander.

"Hush now, my dear mech. This will only take a moment." Initiating the excruciating mental scan, a sadistic smirk curled the corner of his mouthplates as he tore through the other mech's mind, searching for the data he desired.

The monster pulled away, turning calmly to the rest of the mechs still lined up and motionless. He could all but taste and sense their fear, most likely a result of the screaming and trembling mech collapsed on the floor behind them. With a scowl, he motioned to the guards at the door. "Take him away." They rushed to do their job, inwardly grateful that they would not have to witness the horror that was soon to come.

The madmech began to walk down the line of mechs standing at attention, servos crossed and mouthplates pursed.

He moved suddenly, and then half of the guards were down, trembling in unbearable pain as their minds were exposed to their deepest and darkest fears. The monster laughed darkly his electromagnetic field flaring as it filled with sadistic pleasure and desire and dark fury.

He paced again, this time stopping in front of a gray-blue mech. A snarl curled his mouthplates.

_"You."_

The remaining guards could not help but vent in relief, feeling absolutely no regret as their former colleague was dragged out of the room by his wings.

* * *

 

It was cold, dark, and damp.

The sound of labored ventilations filled the air. Hot air cycled out of the restrained frame hanging from the ceiling.

A dark chuckle reverberated throughout the room. A shudder ran through the condensation-soaked prey.

The silhouette of the monster appeared in the corner of his broken peripheral vision. The faint tang of fresh and rotted Energon flooded his olfactory sensors, and he futilely bit back a choked groan as his tanks churned in an uncomfortable impersonation of a maelstrom.

The beast was moving closer. His pedesteps were silent, and he gave the impression of being everywhere at once despite the fact that he was in front of his prey.

A grin spread across his mouthplates, revealing jagged dentia that seemed able to tear through even the strongest of metal. Wings fanned the air in a sporadic rhythm and razor sharp claws flexed.

Oh, yes.

This was going to be  _so_ much fun...

... ... ... ... ...

"Please, stop. I'll do anything!"

A purr escaped the towering winged mech. Licking his mouthplates as he trailed his claws down the side of that  _delicious_ prey, he shook his helm. "No, no, my dear mech. There is nothing you can offer me that will please me as much as this. Now  _explain."_

The bound mech shuddered as excruciating cold carved its way throughout his chassis. "Please, I had nothing to do with that! They left me behind! I swear upon the Allspark, they knocked me out and took the merchandise before I knew what happened!" His ventilations were labored and heavy as he ineffectively attempted to draw cool air into his rapidly overheating frame.

The monster paused in his inspection of the jagged blade he currently held, gingerly, in his servos. "Oh, I know you were not alone." In a flash, he was once again looming over the cowering mech, optics blazing furiously and a vicious scowl on his faceplate. "What I want to know is why you  _let_ them."

The trembling mech gasped out a sob, optics widening as the other traced the enormous blade down the side of his vulnerable neck cabling. "W-What do you mean?"

An agonized cry rang out as the blade plunged deep into the side of the mech's torso. The attacker growled viciously as he twisted the weapon deep into the inner workings of the other, savoring the desperate and futile pleas -  _please, I'll do anything! Just make it stop!_ \- and the wonderful sound of shredding circuitry and organs.

There was another  _infuriating_ sob as harsh tremors racked the frame of the restrained mech. Why must they always  _cry?_ It would not save them. They did not seem to understand that he had no spark, no feelings...except for the rage, the insanity, the  _hate._ Ah. well. If this mech did not seem or want to understand, then he would have to  _force_ him to.

"I will ask you once more: why were you in the vault before and after my merchandise was stolen?" The voice was a dangerous growl, a deep and threatening rumble that reverberated throughout both of the mechs and in the room.

The mech did respond; he seemed to be unfocused in the processor from severe Energon loss. With an unnervingly calm vent, the torturer - no, not torturer, that was such a  _plain_ term - gathered the spilled Energon in his hands and forced mech's mouthplates open.

The mech could not help but gag as he was forcefully hand-fed his own lifeblood. Life was nothing but a weak and petty promise now; once he gave him the information it was all too obvious that he would not live afterwards. So why go on? What was the point if this...this  _madmech..._  was clearly going to terminate him either way?

He cried out as claws dug into his shoulder plating, digging well past the thick armor and slashing into softer and weaker protoform, dragging him forward to come faceplate-to-faceplate with the feared madmech.

Blazing amber optics, filled to the brim with dark passion and insanity and hunger, bore into the dim and unfocused ones of the quarry. He could not move as the other moved even closer, and he froze in frenzied as razor claws trailed over the exposed neck cabling. With just a push, the talons could tear through his neck...slice through the cabling with a startling ease as the rumbling laughter of the killer echoed in his processor, the last thing he would ever hear...

"No, no, no! I'll talk!  _I'll talk!"_

There was a moment of uncomfortable and terrifying silence.

Then a dark and sadistic laugh.

"Very well." The pressure on his chassis lessened, and the blades and claws retracted into protective compartments. Relief could not help but overwhelm the interrogated's mind, his processor and spark all but leaping for joy.

Something sharp embedded itself into the back of his helm, and he flinched in surprised pain and shock. Claws tightened around his chin and shoulder panels, stopping all variations of movement.

"Nothing but a processor scan, my dear mech." He was unperturbed by the disgusted groan that came from the prey, rewarding his insubordination with a flare of heat from his internal fans. Not the comforting heat one found in the arms of a lover or in a thermal blanket...no, nowhere  _near_ that type. This was the heat, the searing pain, associated with an explosion of injuries.  The heat he enjoyed the most.

Ignoring the pained whimpers, he tore his way through the dimly lit mind with speed and efficiency of one used to such a process. It was clear, however, that this mech was not used to the process, though his attacker could care less, by the way he thrashed and writhed and moaned. Hmm. Such a futile attempt to dislodge his enraged grasp. No, no, no...not this time, dear prey. This time... _he_ would come out in the end.

Ah, yes. There it was..right there.

With a satisfied and grim chuckle, he tore the connection away, leaving the dazed mech groaned and trembling violently. Such inevitable weakness...how did one go through a regular orn with such stupidity? He never knew and never wanted to.

The beast chuckled darkly. The darkness cloaking his spark twisted and writhed in pleasured agony and delight...no amount of light could pierce the brewing storm that was merely at bay, waiting for the right moment to strike fear and tear into the insignificant pest who dare steal from him.

A choked gasp of shock erupted from his mouth before he realized what was happening. Looking down, he realized the blade, the same one that had been sheathed mere moments ago, was sticking straight out of his chest. With a strangled and gurgling gasp, Energon poured from his mouth and dribbled onto his rotting and graying armor.

The beast watched as the mech collapsed in on himself, optics flickering and dying forever more.

With a growl, the mech turned and headed out of the room, shaking the Energon from his claws and wings.

"Sir?" The massive guard rumbled in a neutral tone, not extremely respectful but enough so that it did not subject him to the wrath his superior was capable of.

The Praxian flared his wings wide, rumbling in content as he motioned with a servo in a lackadaisical manner. "Leave the body. They will be here soon, and they need to see my message." A sadistic smirk curled venomous mouthplates.

They turned and left the scene of horror behind them.

* * *

 

"Sir!"

The massive green mech turned in his seat, yellow optics holding grim realization.

The messenger stopped short. "Do you know?"

Yellow optics flickered once as the large mech stood, his size almost intimidating the smaller. "Yes. Gather a transport and meet me there."

Mere breems later, the ominous warehouse was quarantined by Enforcer tape and mechs and femmes awaiting orders.

"Sir!" A  black and blue mech ran up to him, vents heaving and white optics narrow.

The Chief rumbled, crossing his servos behind his backstrut. "Explain."

"The body is only a few joors old, with rather gruesome wounds inflicted by a large serrated knife and what appears to be poisoned talons. But sir..." The Enforcer looked up with optics filled with disgust and rather morbid interest. "There is something else. A message."

The Chief's optics widened. "He actually left a message?" Moving forward in long great strides, the enormous mech pushed his way into the warehouse.

The body of the victim, a mech of approximately thirty thousand vorns, lay there on the ground, half propped against an Energon-soaked metal chair, an item that was so out of place in a sight of such morbid horror. The mech himself was in a gruesome state. Shredded armor covered his lean frame, Energon still trickling from the wounds. Deep lacerations peppered his body, armor around the edges of the gashes inflamed and holding the telltale sign of dying nanites still trying to perform their now useless job. The most horrifying thing, however, was not the infected wounds or the oozing metal. It was his faceplate. One optic hung from its socket, the ligament connecting it to its host hanging on by a thread. Deep gashes covered the sides of the mech's faceplate, torn armor hanging in thin strips. His mouth was open in a silent scream of pure and unadulterated terror...most likely the result of the massive blade sticking out of his chassis.

"Sir...look." The blue mech pointed with a shaky hand, clearly fighting back his body's instincts to violently purge his tanks.

There, on the floor near the mutilated chassis, was a message written in drying and congealing Energon.

_I am here...let the game begin, Iacon._

_Signed, Yours Truly._

The Chief pressed his mouthplates together, narrowing his optics. He turned to the waiting mech, armor flared.

"Contact Jazz. Tell him we have a...bit of a problem."


	2. Chapter 2

The bar was loud and hot. Music pounded, screaming through the speakers as the inebriated mechs and femmes swayed on the dance floor. Shady figures sat at the bar, muttering to themselves or their companions or merely sitting there watching. It was enough to make any mech uncomfortable. If that did not instill fear in the sparks of any sane mech, then the brooding and pure white mech sitting at the corner of the bar table would.

Servos crossed on the long and polished metal table before him, the mech was silent as he stared at the drink encircled by his arms. Whenever he moved, even if he was only flaring or resettling his armor or if he even twitched in some way, the multicolored and spinning lights of the bar reflected off of him, bright enough to give anyone who was stupid enough to look a reappearing glare in their optics.

"Mech, if ya ain't gonna drink it, Ah can give it ta someone else." A bartender appeared, his cracked white optics glinting and his dingy armor flared.

The white mech said nothing, remaining motionless as he continued to keep his helm down and his veiled gaze lowered. He vented heavily, releasing excess heated air from his lean and streamlined frame. A low chuckle came from his vocalizer, making the larger mech stop for a brief moment in shock.

The bartender growled, his rank ventilations lapping at the other's armor, before motioning to a large mech at the door. "Ah guess Ah have ta call security on ya, freak."

Before he could figure out what happened, the mech sitting before the bartender was on his pedes and had him pinned to the grimy counter. Claws unsheathing, the slim white mech dug deep into the other's armor, uncaring as he blindly struggled and knocked over his drink in the process. The Energon spread out rapidly beneath him, like some poor imitation of the lifeblood it was used to fuel.

Partly shattered optics widened even more when the bartender caught a glimpse of his attacker's faceplate as the rotating lights shone on them. His optics were not visible in any way, shape, or form, the result of the blazing white crystal visor concealing them. His faceplate held and revealed no emotion, but the bartender's optics could not help but lock on the large and gruesome scar that covered the right side of his neck and curled up to mar the edges of his otherwise handsome faceplate.

"Wha' do ya think yer doin', mech? Let meh go!" He struggled once more, attempting to dislodge the surprisingly powerful grip of the smaller mech.

The white mech continued to say nothing, his armor flaring from his frame ever so slightly as his visor seemed to narrow. The razor claws tightened their ruthless hold on the other mech's armor, slashing through the protective metal and staining the talons with hot and fresh Energon, as he forcefully pulled the mech up and pinned him to the wall with a startling thud.

Everything froze, and then all optics were on the two, mainly the white mech.

A growl sounded as the large mech that had been standing by the door stalked towards his boss and the white mech, servo transforming into a large photon blaster. 

The white mech froze and tilted his helm, a dangerous smirk curling back his thin mouthplates. As the mech approached him with his weapon raised, the white mech gave a furious hiss and whipped around, seemingly forgetting about the bartender. A dangerous grin spread across his mouthplates as the approaching mech raised his weapon, but before anyone could realize what happened, the white mech was wrapped around the larger's shoulders. Twisting his body in a way that should have been impossible, there was the telltale snap of a neck shattering and Energon spurted everywhere as the mech's helm was ripped off and sent flying across the room. The occupants of the bar all stared in shock, hesitant to move a digit in the presence of the deranged mech before them.

A whimper came from behind the bar table, and the bartender attempted to run and escape. Streamlined armor flaring, the small mech moved in a flash and restrained the mech once more, baring his dentia in a feral snarl.

Somehow mustering the courage to speak, the bartender spoke in a shaky and fear-tinged voice. "L-let meh go! Who do ya think ya are?" 

The strange white mech leaned forward, engine growling ominously. "Perhaps ya've heard o' meh before. Mah name's Jazz." His voice was low and heavily accented, similar to that of the bartender, as his electromagnetic field flared and warped through the other's, as if it were sickeningly content with invading personal space.

Murmurs passed through the entire room and chairs scraped as the mechs and femmes closest to the two moved away.

The bartender, if it had not been obvious before, was now completely terrified. "J-Jazz? What are ya doin' here? This ain't ya turf."

The white mech rumbled deeply, leaning close. "It is now." Moving in a flash, he straightened and released the other, jerking his helm to the door as he crossed his servos. "Get outta here." He glared venomously as the larger mech backed away and ran.

Jazz vented and took his seat back at the table. He rolled his optics beneath his visor as his audios picked up pedesteps heading towards him. "Ah ain't in the mood ta be bothered with. Ya'd be wise ta leave 'fore Ah decide ta take a dagger ta your optics."

A voice sounded behind the Polyhexian. "You would be inclined to know that even if you took a dagger to my optics, I would still be able to decapitate you."

Visor brightening suddenly, Jazz whirled around, ignoring the way the room tensed once more. A startling grin, one that was shockingly handsome and brightened the dark aura that radiated around him and the room, played on his mouthplates as he took in the mech before him.

Tall with dark red armor and optics that were a shad of burned amber, the mech stood there with the faintest of smirks and his servos crossed over his pristine chassis. Large and clearly powerful wings wings rose high above his back, embossed with an ancient Kaonian Seeker dialect that had lost its meaning eons ago, though not to the crimson mech.

"Bloodstorm?"

The enormous mech grunted as he was clapped heavily on the back and pulled into a playful headlock. "Wha' are ya doin' here? Ah thought ya got transferred!"

Bloodstorm scowled and moved out of the headlock, flaring his armor and batting his wings against the other's servo as he straightened to his normal and towering height. "Enough of that. Your help is needed."

The Polyhexian narrowed his optics, his jovial mood vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Mah help? Ah thought Ah told ya a  _long_ time ago, and Ah thought that Ah was perfectly clear when Ah said - "

The red mech snarled viciously in warning, cutting the other off as his optics flashed with a menacing light. "You  _thought."_ His wings rose high on his back as his engine growled. "The Chief wants to speak with you."

Jazz vented heavily, turning and heading towards the door. The crowd parted and allowed him passage as he stormed out of the bar.

Bloodstorm, who had watched the over-dramatic display, merely gave his own exhausted and frustrated vent and followed.

The Polyhexian was leaning against the rough metal wall of the building the bar belonged to, a scowl on his faceplate and servos crossed as his Energon-stained claws tapped against his sleek armor.

With a flick of his wings, the larger mech stopped a few feet from him, aware of his rapidly darkening mood. "Explain to me what has gotten you in such a mood."

"What's gotten meh in such a mood?" the Polyhexian growled, visor flashing a blinding white. "Wha' part did tha Chief not understand?  _Ah don' work fer ya anymore."_

Bloodstorm bared his dentia in a grin that would have anyone doubting his sanity. "You do now. The Chief specifically ordered me to retrieve you by  _any_ means necessary. Would you like to hear the audio feed?" Optics blazing, the larger mech replayed the feed from his internal speakers, watching the reaction of the smaller mech closely.

Jazz clenched his servos into fists, glaring at the towering mech and ignoring the grave words of the Chief rumbling through his processor. "Ah'm not comin'." Before he could react, Bloodstorm had the smaller mech pinned to the wall with one powerful and unmovable servo, his clawed digits denting the other's armor hard enough to make the metal warp and tear into the softer and scarred protoform beneath it.

"Do you think we care whether or not you  _want_ to do this? You have a debt to pay, and you  _will_ do so." The tall red mech narrowed his optics as an unsettling smirk curled the corner of his mouthplates. "I cannot think about what would be stopping you. Normally you would be jumping at such a fine opportunity." The cold and unnervingly ruthless amber optics narrowed to slits as his fangs glinted in the dim light. "...unless you are  _scared."_

Jazz trembled with rage, unable to move beneath the massive strength of the other. That did not stop him from trying, however, and he snarled at the other as his armor crunched once more and Bloodstorm narrowed his optics. Jazz glared back, his visor dangerously bright. "Ah'm not scared. Ah jus'..." The harsh glow of his visor lessened the slightest as his voice lowered. "...Ah don't want what happened the last time ta happen again."

Bloodstorm rumbled deeply, the noise reverberating throughout both of their chassis, as he bared his fangs. "That is what this is about? _This_ ," he snarled, twisting the other's helm to the side - ignoring the warning hiss as his claws dug into the armor of the Polyhexian's faceplate - to reveal the black scar marring the perfect white armor. "This was a mistake. Something that  _will **not**_ happen again if you use that processor of yours to come up with something other than idiotic decisions and worthless plans with no logic to back them up. Now, are we done with this, or do I need to use unnecessary force - force that I am willing to use, however - to drag you back to Enforcer Headquarters and injure your so carefully kept sense of pride?"

The Polyhexian narrowed his optics beneath his visor, engine rumbling. "Fine. Don' expect tha highest gratitude."

Bloodstorm scoffed. "The highest gratitude? From you?" His wings twitched as he removed his immense weight from the other, shaking the flecks of silver-white paint and Energon from his claws. "Hardly."

* * *

 

"Chief." A knock sounded on the frame of the open door as a femme of medium height with striking silver and crimson armor appeared.

The massive green mech looked up from his work, yellow optics narrowed at the femme who had interrupted him. "What is it, Arden?"

Arden shifted her weight. "Bloodstorm is on his way with Jazz."

With a deep rumble from his engine, the Chief of the Enforcers set aside the datapad he currently held and motioned, almost carelessly, with a servo. "Very well. Send them in when they get here."

The femme nodded and turned away, only to hesitate in the hall. The Chief noticed and flared his armor to express his growing displeasure. "Spit it out, Arden. You know how I don't like secrets."

Arden scowled slightly but turned back to face her commander. "Bloodstorm has informed me that the Polyhexian is extremely volatile this orn, and that he attacked a mech at the bar three times his height and weight."

The Chief shook his helm, releasing a deep vent of heated air. "That is Jazz. There is nothing to worry about."

"Forgive my argument, sir," Arden murmured, "But I believe that  _is_ something to worry about." Before the green mech could respond, the striking femme shook her helm. "Must I remind you of the last time Jazz came here, or are you too old you recall such a thing?"

The Chief felt rage stir in his spark at such a bold statement, yet he knew that Arden would not let him interrupt as she continued on. "Necessary precautions must be taken, and I will not let anyone come into harm's way because of your foolish decision to allow that mad Polyhexian into our headquarters." Her crimson optics narrowed to deadly slits, burning with a fire that should have belonged in the Pits. "Consider yourself warned."

The Chief scowled and rose from his seat, but before he could snap at the inconsiderate femme, she was already gone.

* * *

 

"Are we there yet?"

Bloodstorm snarled. "By the Pits, Jazz, if you ask me that  _one more time - "_

The Polyhexian snickered. "Ah'm just tryin' ta pass the time, but ya obviously don't want ta talk, so - "

The triple changer rumbled deeply, the noise powerful enough to stop his companion mid-sentence. "No, I do not wish to talk, and if you would like to keep your vocalizer I strongly suggest that you mute it."

Jazz grumbled beneath his ventilations and would have rolled his optics had he been in bipedal mode. "Fine, then."

It was silent.

That is, until the visored Polyhexian spoke once more.

"Wha' ever happened ta ya?"

The sleek red car continued down the refined metal road. "Explain yourself, Jazz."

"Ya know what Ah mean." He swerved suddenly to end up in front of the larger vehicle. "Ya used ta agree wit' meh on everything, an' know ya don't even want ta speak ta meh anymore. What changed?"

Bloodstorm was silent as his engine stalled and he slowed. "Jazz, I..." Backing up suddenly, the enormous mech transformed, servos crossed over his broad chassis and slanted optics shuttered. "I am not the same mech I was back when we were in the training academy. I have changed, and if you know the best for your well being then you would find it wise to do so as well." His optics onlined, blazing amber that burned straight into the core of the shocked Polyhexian. "You will be destroyed by the evils of the world if you do not."

Without another word, the massive crimson mech turned and transformed down into his ground-based alt mode, driving off before Jazz could even formulate a response.

* * *

 

It was a chaotic mess at the Enforcer Headquarters. Everyone was on edge, having heard that the news that a certain streamlined Polyhexian was coming, along with their feared commander. Mechs and femmes of all occupations and ranks were scrambling to acquire as much work as they could so they would not have to be tasked with anything having to do with the arriving mechs.

The sound of two powerful engines reached the inside of the massive law enforcement building.

Everyone froze, ventilations halting, engines rumbling in distress and optics widening in fear. The doors hissed open, and two mechs entered. One was significantly taller than the other, with enormous and obviously very powerful wings rising from his back, scorching amber optics, and deep red armor. The smaller one, however, was the one that the silenced mechs and femmes were clearly uneasy about. His visor blazed with a furious and mischievous light, and it was all too obvious that the mechs and femmes surrounding the two visitors either feared or hated the mech, and they gave both of them a wide berth as they slowly made their way down the hall between stations.

The tense atmosphere  grew even more as the white mech paused beside a glaring mech. "Ya got a problem with' meh, mech?"

The other scowled and did not bother to respond. Before the rest of the mechs and femmes could process what was happening, the Polyhexian had the other pinned to his desk, glinting dentia bared and claws digging into refined armor.

"Ah said," Jazz growled lowly, leaning close as his core temperature increased in his rising anger. It was enough to char the metal of the restrained mech beneath him, making his hiss. "Do ya have a problem wit' meh?" With each word, the infuriated and sleek white mech pressed his quarry harder against the desk, making the defenseless collection of metal groan in protest.

"I don't have to answer to you," the mech choked out, his own anger beginning to seep into his voice.

Jazz narrowed his optics as his visor darkened a few shades. His engine growled as his claws began to shred the armor of his prey. "Ah think ya should rethink tha' answer, mech."

The other glared at a casually observing Bloodstorm. "Isn't he your partner? This is harassment of an officer of the law!"

The enormous triple changer scowled, his wings fanning the air. "You should know that he is not my partner, and he answers to no law."

Jazz chuckled darkly, nodding at an almost insanely quick rate. "Yep. Tha's right." His grip tightened, an ominous creaking sound spreading throughout the room as the armor of the restrained mech warped and groaned to cut into soft protoform.

"That is enough!"

A booming voice sounded at the head of the room. Everyone not currently being attacked immediately shot to their pedes, standing at attention.

The Chief approached the three mechs, his tawny optics blazing. "Jazz, you know not to attack my soldiers. Release him."

The Polyhexian glared for a moment before straightening. The other mech shoved him away, scowling ferociously. Jazz snarled, making to attack once again, until Bloodstorm held him back, narrowing his amber optics in a dangerous warning.

Letting out a vent of frustration and strange, sudden amusement, Jazz looked up at the Chief. "He was tha one who started it."

Yellow optics rolled as an annoyed vent escaped the towering mech. "You are not a sparkling, so stop acting like one." He turned, motioning with a servo. "Follow me. Everyone, back to work."

* * *

 

"Wha' did ya want meh here fer?" Jazz demanded. His patience was not the best, and it was wearing thin.

The Chief of Enforcers took his seat at the head of the long and massive table in the middle of the room. "We have another...assignment for you."

The Polyhexian scowled as he took his seat, leaning back and throwing his pedes on the tablestop. "Wha' part of  _Ah don' work fer ya anymore_ do ya not understand?"

Forest green armor shifting, the Chief vented heavily. "What do you want?"

Jazz scowled, straightening in his seat. "Ah don' want anythin' but peace and quiet. Ya'll can't seem ta understand when a mech wants ta jus' relax."

The Chief crossed her servos, deep in thought for moment. "Very well. You will be allowed six quartexes of free time..." He was cut off by a pleased purr from the strange white mech, and a deep and powerful scowl appeared on dark silver faceplates as he continued on in an irritated tone. "...if you help us with this mission."

The Polyhexian vented, rolling his optics beneath his visor. "Fine, if it means ya'll leave meh alone." Leaning back in his seat with a satisfied smirk, he shuttered his optics. "Wha' is it?"

A deep rumble came from the massive green mech as he looked to Bloodstorm as if seeking approval. "Have you ever heard of The Incarcerator?"

That caught the streamlined mech's attention, though not for the best. Jazz shot out of his chair, approaching the Chief to loom over him, a rather impressive feat for his small size. "Wha' do ya mean? Why are ya messin' around in things ya olfactories shouldn't be in?" He snarled as he leaned closer, visor blazing dangerously bright. "The Incarcerator is not a joke! Ya shouldn't be messin' with him!"

The Chief stared impassively, turning to the massive holoscreen behind them. "Watch."

The Polyhexian could no help but stare as the most gruesome, horrific images appeared on the screen. Dismembered body parts, severed helms, sliced off digits and servos...but the most terrifying thing, he hated to admit, was the way in which they were displayed. Almost in a...playful manner, as if this were a game. In each of the images shown, whatever body part was displayed was set up to resemble a certain household item, specifically those that could cause the most harm. Digits were arranged to look like a massive sharp-edged knife, servos were bent and torn to resemble a gun...

Tanks roiling in disgust as the slideshow ended, Jazz glared at the Chief. "Wha' does this have ta do with meh?"

Yellow optics blazed into the Polyhexian's core. "The Incarcerator is here in Iacon. And we..." He motioned to the looming crimson triple changer behind him, who was watching with an unnervingly steady glare.

"We want you to hunt him down and capture him. By any means necessary."

Jazz all but gaped at the two. "Ya want  _meh_ ta hunt down the most dangerous serial killer on the planet? Why in tha world would Ah ever agree ta that?"

Bloodstorm grinned eerily, moving forward from his position against the wall. "We thought you wanted your free time. Clearly it is not of much worth to you if you are turning down such an exhilarating offer."

"I wouldn't call it _exhilarating."_ The Chief interjected, glaring pointedly at the triple changer. Bloodstorm merely shrugged and turned to the holoscreen controller, adjusting the feed as the projector turned off and he watched something on the controller screen.

Jazz's glare darkened. "Ah have half a mind ta walk out o'this office right now and turn over everything ya jus' told meh ta the Corps."

The Chief's optics blazed with a furious light. "You would do no such thing, if you knew what was good for you."

The Polyhexian barked out a harsh laugh. "An' how would ya know what Ah think is good fer meh?"

Powerful servos crossed over a broad chest. "The entirety of the Enforcers will stop you should they hear - from me, might I add - that you are threatening their commander and attempting to escape with classified information." A dark and wry smirk twisted the corner of the massive green mech's mouthplates. "Even you could not take out eighty armed mechs and femmes."

Jazz rumbled deeply, visor glaring enough to blind any mech. "Would ya like ta see meh try?"

Bloodstorm looked up from the computer before him, his wings flaring wide. "Is that a threat, Jazz?"

"And Ah'm sure ya'd like ta see if it was, wouldn't ya, mech?" The streamlined mech crossed his servos as he bared his dentia in a feral snarl.

_"Enough!"_

The Chief glared at the two as they made to tear into each other; they both froze in shock at hearing him raise his voice. "Both of you stop acting like sparklings and control yourselves!" Releasing a vent, he stood and took the holoscreen controller from Bloodstorm, powering the screen back on. "Watch, and if you two don't stop acting like the glitches you are neither of you will be released from you line of work."

That seemed to silence the two, who settled into glaring at each other as another video appeared on the screen.

It was dark, and nothing was visible until a faint orange-tinted light appeared. In a flash, two narrow and slanted amber optics were unnervingly close to the screen, the movement enough to startle Jazz as he twitched in his seat. Those optics held dark insanity and chilled even the ruthless Polyhexian to the core. They pierced every mech as if they knew where they sat and where they looked.

They were the optics of a madmech.

A rumbling voice sounded, tearing Jazz from his thoughts. It was a deep baritone that shuddered through the speakers and through the mechs seated at the table.

 _"I know you are watching this, Enforcer Headquarters. Or should I say...the Chief, the bounty hunter, and the triple changer?"_ There was a pause, as if he were waiting for a response.  _"You know who I am and I know who you are."_

Jazz scowled, visor flickering in his rising agitation. "How does he know?"

The Chief and Bloodstorm silenced him, attention focused on the screen in an unwavering manner.

The madmech laughed, a sound filled with dark intent that sent chills down Jazz's backstrut.  _"I am here, and you are there. Where will I strike next...where, oh, where? Madness will plague, games will be vague. Time will run out, and the fuse will run short. Disarming is not an option, fear will be a given notion. The hand will constantly be in motion."_ The Incarcerator snarled suddenly, the camera focused on his dark faceplate that was lit only by his optics. His fangs were bared, enormous jagged points that seemed to be able to tear through anything.  _"Time is running out. Will you win or lose? The death will be personified by a fuse."_

Abruptly, the transmission ended.

"Wha' does it mean? It's all a riddle." Jazz growled, the chill in his backstrut ever present.

The Chief watched him silently for a moment before speaking. "You will figure that out, with the help of Bloodstorm and his team. Report back immediately when you have something."

jazz could only stare as the Chief rose and left.

Bloodstorm grinned viciously. "Shall we get started, then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait. I was overseas, and know I'm stuck being busy with high school Drumline and Marching Band. Ah, well. 
> 
> I kind of skimped out with the rhyming in the riddle at the end...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profoundly for the long wait. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.

 

 

 

It was a usual day in the Enforcer Headquarters. Loud and rambunctious mechs stood laughing and shouting beside the refuel station, cheerfully ignoring the glares that those that were not on break and those that were closest to them were sending their way. Quiet and laid-back mechs and femmes sat at work stations arranged in a careful, meticulous manner throughout the room, deep in their assigned tasks and focused on accomplishing such a thing while their internal radios ran at full volume and power, drowning out the unneeded ramblings of those not doing as they were told.

All in all, it was as normal as a normal orn could be.

That is, until _he_ arrived.

The doors hissed open, and everyone immediately froze. Truth be told, it was almost amusing how the scene looked exactly like the one that had occurred those few quartexes ago, when the strange and feral bounty hunter had stormed in with their second in command. The look that had been on the faceplate of that silver mech had been quite terrifying, and it was saying something if he was terrifying in the presence of the massive crimson triple changer.

That same silver and streamlined mech stood in the doorway. There was no light to illuminate his slim frame and his crystalline visor blazed with a manic light that was the perfect and rightful personification of the hunter's fragmented mind.

He remained motionless, the tense atmosphere swirling around him in a dark impression of a horrific maelstrom, before one idiotic yet brave soul decided to speak.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in already?"

The lithe mech's helm turned, his visor seeming to carve its way through the content darkness surrounding him as he faced the direction the voice of the offender had come in.

"Excuse meh?" A smooth and suave tenor rumbled throughout the room, dangerously detached and impassive. The icy tendrils of hidden terror stretched and curled throughout the room, hovering in a hesitant yet patient manner over the sparks of the bystanders, ready to strike at its master's convenience.

"Do not act like you did not hear me." The speaker stepped out of the shadows caused by the towering and thoroughly polished desks, the dim and artificial lights illuminating his slim and sharp-edged burgundy armor and glinting off of the elegant and powerful wings rising from his backstrut. Out of a narrow and flawless silver faceplate, the bottomless holes where his optics should have been only made the darkness around his faceplate cloak him more. "Cease attempting to intimidate these mechs and femmes and just get whatever business you have here done and over with."

The monster known as terror took its cue as the visor of the Polyhexian darkened to a deep navy blue, and the beast reared back as its venomous talons sliced with startling ease through the sparks of the audience. It was a known fact now...they were all officially terrified.

"Mech, do ya know who ya are talkin' ta?" The bounty hunter snarled lowly, flawless armor flaring aggressively from his streamlined frame as he stalked towards the other with menace clear in his stride as he glared up at him.

The other mech grinned, and it was a terrifyingly vicious action that many of the bystanders hoped they never saw again. "I should be asking you the same question, hunter."

The silver mech narrowed his optics beneath his visor. "Wha' makes ya so special?" He moved suddenly, too fast for the optic to catch, and was dangerously close to the other, somehow looming over him even though the other was more than twice his height. "Wha' can stop meh from tearin' ya limb from an' coverin' this place in yer Energon?"

Endless optic sockets seemed to burn with a feral light as elongated fangs were bared in a sadistic grin. "You should know that I am not an Enforcer, and that my father could fry your processor with enough voltage to fuel an entire precinct in one nanosecond."

The bounty hunter bared his dentia in an enraged snarl, visor flickering and unsheathed claws flexing. "Ah could care less who ya father is. But ya have yet ta answer mah question: what can stop meh from doing _this?"_ Moving in a flash, the silvery-white mech had the other pinned to the wall, claws tearing through sleek and refined armor to make hot and fresh Energon drip from the deep wounds. Leaning close, his crystalline visor flashed dangerously bright. "Wha' can stop meh from tearin' out ya optics _right here an' right now?"_

The nameless mech tilted his helm, dentia still bared in that disturbing and infuriating grin. "Oh, these ones know who I am talking about. You are a fool for not knowing."

"A fool?" Jazz's engine growled ominously as his grip tightened, and the telltale creak of warping metal filled the room. "Ya had better watch tha' glossa o' yours."

"Or what?" Lengthened dentia were bared as the burgundy mech's electromagnetic field rippled and flared with as much insanity as his restrainer. "You will hunt me down to the ends of Cybertron? I think not." Bucking suddenly, the burgundy mech forced the other off of him, wings fanning the air in a clearly aggressive and provocative motion as his engine gave a deep rumble and the armor covering his slim frame shifted like poisoned liquid.

The bounty hunter hissed furiously, visor blazing bright as his claws extended further and his armor flared. "Ah'm gonna make ya regret challengin' meh, mech."

Black optic holes seemed to glint deviously, filled with dark intent, as the rumbles originating from deep within the lethal chassis increased in volume and strength. "I would like to see you try, hunter."

The Enforcers surrounding them stood motionless, not one single soul brave enough to even think of stopping the actions of the two feral and extremely dangerous mechs.

What happened next occurred in barely the blink of an optic shutter. The winged mech was suddenly behind the hunter, two massive swords in his clawed servos. Jazz flared his armor aggressively, visor burning a nearly blinding shade of white as two Energon daggers suddenly appeared in his servos, seemingly still caked with the blood of his last unlucky victim.

But before the two could even think of striking any of the supposed weak spots of their prey, a thunderous voice boomed throughout the entire room.

_"That is enough!"_

The dark aura surrounding the hunter and his enraged quarry flared and caressed the armor and electromagnetic fields of those who were watching. With a sanguinary moan the toxic wind stained their once benevolent appearance with a bottomless and cruel demeanor, mercilessly crushing all other emotions associated with anything that contradicted the actions of the beast.

Optics all turned, and at the head of the room stood an enormous crimson mech. His large and powerful wings were raised high behind him, revealing his barely veiled irritation and dark aggression. Amber optics burned with a feral and ruthless light, a viciously clear warning revealed within the molten depths.

"Bloodstorm!" The hunter seemed to break out of his bad mood, spreading his servos as if greeting an old friend. "How ya doin'? Life treatin' ya well since Ah last saw ya?" He seemed to completely disregard the blind Seeker, turning and heading towards his comrade.

The triple changer snarled at him, a deep and rumbling warning, making the silver mech freeze in his tracks at the dangerously cautionary noise. "I said _enough."_

The blind mech gave a hoarse and strut-chilling laugh, and in response the Polyhexian turned and snarled at him, his optics burning bright and rage simmering in the poisoned air between them. The other did not seem perturbed by the warning noise and his mouthplates curled back in a sadistic smirk, his wings fanning the air in an arrogant and provocative motion, as if his lust for a fight was not yet satisfied.

In but a few great and menacing strides, the crimson mech was looming over the two enraged mechs, his powerful electromagnetic field overwhelming the weaker ones of those around him, as well as the electronic auras of the machines used for various tasks. Audios malfunctioned in the static that was produced from the temporarily disabled machines, and a collective cringe ran throughout the crowd, the mechs and femmes with the more sensitive audio receptors crying out and clutching their helms in barely controlled excruciating pain.

The enormous crimson triple-changer did not seem to care for the agony of the mechs and femmes surrounding him, nor did he seem concerned as the Polyhexian hunter gave his own painful wince. The evidence of this was clear in the threatening snarl that tore from his massive engines, which immediately silenced the pained Enforcers as they watched the towering mech lean down so he was faceplate-to-faceplate with the bounty hunter. "Do I have to make myself any clearer, or do you wish to be forcefully removed from these premises?"

Jazz gave a dangerous grin, dentia flashing in the light given off by his visor. Dark shadows flitted across his faceplate as he spread his servos out wide in a gesture that was as nonthreatening as possible. The darkness over his faceplate made him seem all the more insane and feral as a light and teasing rumble came from his engine. "Aw, come on now, 'Storm. Ya know Ah was jus' -"

Before any of the bystanders, and the Polyhexian himself, could realize what happened, a massive servo shot out and then razor claws were wrapped tightly around the bounty hunter's scarred neck cabling; the talons sunk deep into the seemingly protective and softer metal, slicing through with a terrifying ease to allow the sizzling Energon to boil and bubble to the surface to stream in thin trickles down the otherwise flawless silver-white armor. Smoldering amber optics carved their way into the currently restrained silver mech, giving the sense of stripping the other bare to reveal his darkest and most dangerous secrets, as the monster known as dark and menacing aggression raised its hackles and bared its fangs.

The streamlined mech snarled venomously, armor flaring as much as it would allow with the immense strength currently restraining him. "Bloodstorm, wha' do ya think ya're doin'? Ah've had enough o' ya pinnin' meh ta walls these past few quartexes." His helm turned to the side as he glared at the burgundy mech, baring his dentia as the other gave another powerful and rumbling laugh. "An' ya. Shut the frag up 'fore Ah come over there an' rip off ya wings."

The triple changer gave a deep and threatening rumble, his flared wings revealing his darkening mood and immediately silencing the other, drawing the bounty hunter's attention back to him. "I think not, Polyhexian." He ignored the shocked flash of the crystal visor at the use of his subrace term. "I told you to cease your inconsequential dispute, and yet you continued anyway, as if my word did not mean anything to you." He brought the other close to his faceplate, his tawny glare flashing a crimson brighter than his paint, menacing enough to halt any futile attempt at retorting as his huge talons tore through the protective exterior dermaplating. "Do I have to report you to the Chief?"

Jazz's visor darkened to a deep navy blue as a murderous scowl distorted his otherwise handsome face. "Ya wouldn't do tha' if ya know what's good fer ya, mech. Ya know as well as Ah tha' Ah can take out tha' sorry excuse for a leader in less than a breem."

Bloodstorm growled deeply, the noise reverberating throughout the room, as a visible and rather startling and violent tremor ran through his frame. "I would watch your tone, hunter. Such a thing will not be tolerated lightly, as you should know and are no doubt aware of."

The visored Polyhexian gave a humorless laugh, his optics flashing as he recognized the emotional storm beginning to plague his challenger. "Really now? Then why haven't ya said anythin' till now, Seeker? Were ya too scared before?" The silver mech tilted his helm, a disturbing grin playing on his slim mouthplates. "Or were ya afraid o' goin' against the all-mighty Chief of Enforcers?" His engine rumbled as he continued on, not once letting the other retort. "Don' tell meh tha' the great an' powerful Bloodstorm, the most feared triple-changer in the known world, is afraid o' breakin' a little rules?"

Massive wings flared in rising aggression, and the crimson mech was clearly restraining himself from crushing the smaller mech's neck. "Take wary steps, Polyhexian. I am not in a benevolent mood this orn."

"Really now?" Jazz growled, tensing as he felt the collar of armor around his neck buckle beneath the other's immense strength. "Wha' are ya goin' ta do, Bloodstorm?" He leaned close, or as much as the weight restraining him would allow, and hissed out the remainder of his verbal attack. _"Are ya goin' ta kill meh like ya did Windstorm?"_

Once-tawny crimson optics burned with a fire stronger and more powerful than that of the incineration chambers found in the Pits of Kaon. With a strut-shaking roar, the triple changer released his quarry and settled into a battle-ready stance, armor and wings flared in pure and unadulterated primal fury. A taloned servo rose and unsheathed the gargantuan sword hilted in the sheath incorporated into his back, and he bared his lengthened dentia in a feral snarl. "You will pay for that, Polyhexian." A tremor ran through the towering mech, and his helm moved to the side in violent and jerking movements as his optics flickered and flashed wildly. "I will make you _**bleed** _ and _**suffer**_...oh, yes, I will." His massive wings fanned the air in slow but powerful movements as he approached the other, his sword scraping against the polished metal floor. "You will bleed and suffer at my broken pedes, as I pierce your insignificant chassis and savor your screams and _tear you apart joint by joint!"_

The audience immediately tensed, pure and unadulterated terror spiking clearly in their electromagnetic fields. It was on rare occasions that their Second in Command lost control like this, a rare occasion indeed when he gave into the corruption and insanity, and they all knew to stay as far away as possible from the massive mech and whoever had antagonized him. But even as they moved away, attempting to lose themselves in something, be it work or inconsequential conversations, they all could have sworn that they noticed a flicker of apprehension passed through the silver and streamlined mech's electromagnetic field, yet all assumptions of that were quickly discarded of when the hunter readied himself with his daggers, that cold and cruel smirk still playing across his mouthplates as he flared his armor and expelled heated air from his systems. "Ah'd like ta see ya try, _murderer."_

But before the two could lunge at each other like the beasts they both were, another being interfered and prevented the fight...yet again.

A tall and slim Vocian femme appeared out of nowhere in between the two. Her elegant and curved frame was covered in silver armor that was accented perfectly with black, crimson, and gold, and her wings and slender frame seemed to glow with a supernatural light even as her wings remained high and stiff the air. Her optics were a piercing and deep shade of crimson, slanted upwards in a sort of exotic shape as they blazed insanely bright out of pale silver faceplates.

"Now, now, mechs." Her voice was musical, in a dark sort of way, and evidently revealed her sense of pride and authority, traits that were dominant in most Vocian Seekers. She held out her servos, the talons tipping her long and slender digits glinting with a deceitful promise, as she attempted to calm and stall the two furious monsters. "There is no need to fight. Cease this petty dispute before I am forced to." Her crimson optics burned brighter than before, filled with a painful guarantee.

Bloodstorm gave a growling and terrifying laugh, his chassis racked with violent tremors as his grip on his sword tightened so much that the weapon began to carve into his servos, goading his silver-blue Energon into flowing out of the shallow wounds. "Ah, the pretty Seeker femme...she will try to stop us. No, she will not, she _will **not** stop us!"_ The triple changer roared once more and made to lunge at the elegant femme, but then two servos appeared out of nowhere and restrained the massive mech. The winged mech hissed in animalistic fury, jerking violently but not managing to dislodge the relentless grip of his captor. His crimson optics burned with a manic and ravenous light as he bared his fangs at his restrainer. "Servos off, servos off! Hunter will die, the hunter will _**die!**_ I will tear him to pieces! The floor will be soaked with his Energon, and he _will_ scream!" The crimson mech gave a thundering laugh, his chassis shuddering violently as his electromagnetic field flared in overwhelming power.

"Easy, Bloodstorm." The black mech restraining the crimson mech clenched his dentia together as his muscle cables visibly strained in their effort to hold back the other. "I know you are in there. Calm down and fight this."

The atmosphere of the Enforcer workroom immediately tensed, more so than it already was. There were myths of higher ranking Enforcers that only appeared in the event that a dangerous and dire situation evolved into something more, enough to cause harm to any and all Cybertronians who happened to be near it.

It was all too obvious, as of now, that the stories were true.

The Seeker femme gave an irritated vent, looking down at the Polyhexian, who was still ready for any sudden move thrown his way. "Honestly, Jazz. Must you antagonize Bloodstorm so?"

The silver-white mech shrugged. "Wha' can Ah say? 'E makes it too fun."

"Enough with the incessant chatter." The black mech's deep voice rumbled throughout the room, heavily stained with an accent heard only in those who spoke in the most ancient of dialects, as he shifted and readjusted his grip on the snarling triple changer. "The file corruption is spreading. We must act quickly."

Now, most mechs and femmes would have been immensely confused and unsettled by the actions of the mysterious newcomers, but it was known rather widely throughout the Enforcer base that their Second in Command possessed startling amounts of memory and core programming corruption, corruption that severely affected his moods and stronger things such as his sanity.

Such a fact was enough to make any mech or femme wonder why the Chief had even appointed the lethal mech as his second in command. He was the only one, however, that had the correct amount of experience and training, and the only one who had even near the same amount of training and experience as him was the Third in Command who was known as Arden, a spitfire femme who was known for her attitude and impressive speed on the field whenever there happened to be a chase.

"Status, Stormlancer," the Seeker femme demanded, looking over to the large black mech.

The mech in question cursed in an ancient dialect, rumbling deeply at the struggling triple changer. "This would have been a pit of a lot easier if we had the sedative. Darkblade did not have enough time to synthesize another batch."

The burgundy mech, who had moved to the sidelines seemingly without anyone noticing, smirked cruelly and approached the other, uncaring of the crimson mech's snarls and gruesome threats. "I said I did not have any sedative for _you_ to keep. I said nothing, however," the winged mech continued as his chest armor folded open to reveal his subspace, "About _me_ having it." He pulled out a large syringe, which was filled with a strange blue-green substance, and pumped the air out of it.

Stormlancer gave a thundering growl, the noise loud enough to overpower the struggling mech in his servos. "I swear, if you do that again, you iron-brained slagger..."

The blind mech shook his helm, the disturbing grin still gracing his mouthplates. "Compliments will get you nowhere, my dear mech." Moving with a sudden speed, he was suddenly somehow looming over the crimson mech, who snarled at him with his crimson optics blazing. Darkblade bared his own fangs and then the syringe was empty, and the triple changer was murmuring warnings and strangely detailed images of spark-twisting and tank-churning horror.

Darkblade rumbled deeply, his bottomless optics seeming to burn brightly in the dim lighting. "You owe me, you know."

Stormlancer rolled his optics. "I doubt you will ever be satisfied with just helping someone for the good of it." He shifted with the limp weight of the triple changer in his massive servos, addressing the crowd. "You saw nothing, and you will speak of nothing. Is that understood?"

A collective acquiescence was murmured throughout the stunned mechs and femmes, and without another word, the black mech turned and left, and the Polyexian, Seeker femme, and the blind mech all turned and followed him.

* * *

His mood was rapidly deteriorating.

He knew he was not one known for his...pleasant dispositions, yet any thought related to such a fact was contradicted by the pleasured haze that surrounded the beast whenever he was offered a chance to tease his delicious prey...the oh, so delicious prey...

A rumbling snarl tore from his engines, and powerful wings flared in rising primal fury and hunger. An aching emptiness gnawed at his tanks, threatening to overwhelm. He needed sustenance...he was oh, so hungry...

The darkness concealing his spark roared to voice its fury, writhing in maniacal pleasure and lust. He needed something, _anything_... just something to sate this infuriating desire for a thrill...

With a deep rumble, the beast rose from his seat on the ice-cold metal floor, heading silently out of his office. He paid no attention to the guards standing at attention as he made his way down the hall, his electromagnetic field warping and spreading throughout the room to reveal the dark emotions that plagued him. His wings were raised high behind. fanning the air in slow and powerful motions.

"Sir." Pedesteps neared him, slow and soft and hesitant. It was all too clear that the other was aware of the dark mood of his master.

He slowed ever so slightly, wings flicking to give the command for his visitor to speak.

"They are here to see you, in the foyer." The mech's voice was quiet and somewhat muffled, as if he were holding his helm down to avoid the spark-stopping glare the larger mech constantly gave his subordinates.

The winged mech finally stopped walking, his enormous claws flexing and his electromagnetic field spiking in hunger and irritation. There was a sharp intake behind him, and at that moment the towering mech knew that he was conversing, if one could call it that, with one of the younger mechs who served him.

With a slow and heavy exvent, the mech turned to look at the other.

The mech was a bit more than half his height, and he seemed to be of Vocian or Kaonian descent. His wings were large and elegant but lowered in his currently submissive state. Sleek and well-kept golden armor was flattened against his frame, and his helm was lowered in a respectful position. It was then that the larger mech noticed the large and dark scar of an enormous laceration on the young mech's right wing, one that had the slightest bits of dried Energon clinging to the wound. His spark twisted in barely controlled rage and desire, and with another chilling vent he spoke.

"What is your designation?"

The smaller mech raised his helm ever so slightly, his optics not quite level with the dark chassis of his superior. "Pardon, sir?"

A growl rumbled through the pristine chassis. "Do not make me repeat myself."

A violent and fearful tremor ran through the small mech's frame, and the elder mech fanned his wings impatiently. The golden armor shimmered in the dim lighting as its owner shifted, almost restlessly, from pede to pede as he sensed the movement. "Thunderstrike, sir. M-my designation is Thunderstrike."

"Is there a reason for this? Some sort of special ability, perhaps?" Disgust and irritation sank their claws deep into his processor. He could not comprehend why he was speaking to such a _disgusting_ lower being...one that would most likely end up offline in some sort of accident, no doubt caused by one of the older, more ruthless mechs.

Thunderstrike's scarred wing twitched. "I have sonic and sound wave manipulation abilities, sir. I can teleport and I have telepathy as well."

He tilted his helm. He could see why such a young mech was working as a messenger, but his abilities...he would be an extremely valuable asset on the field. "Tell me. Why are you merely a messenger?"

The golden mech looked up briefly before looking back down, but not before the elder caught a glimpse of his black-flecked crimson optics. "I have only just arrived, sir, a few quartexes ago, but I understand that you are too preoccupied by your other tasks to notice such an insignificant being like me.

_Insignificant indeed, my precious prey..._ The Praxian rumbled deeply, optics narrowing as he looked down at the other. "Lead me to the foyer. You will be my escort from now on."

The small mech's wings hiked up ever so slightly, yet his voice remained emotionless as he nodded sharply. "Yes, sir."

Mere breems later, Thunderstrike had led his superior master to the foyer, an elegant entryway with polished black metal walls engraved with the lost and ancient dialects of the subraces that...interested the dark mech.

Thunderstrike bowed lowly and spread his servos. "May I introduce the Incarcerator, a mech of profound power and influence."

A mech as tall as the Praxian mech stood leaning against the wall. His dark crimson optics and sleek black armor absorbed the darkness cloaking him, making his electromagnetic field flare and spike in unsettling sadism and hunger. Large wings rose from his back, embellished with jagged white lines and ancient Praxian text lost long to the relentless hands of Time.

Beside him stood a slightly smaller mech, one of about the height of Thunderstrike. Deep blue armor covered his slim and powerful frame, and his optics were a dark and burning gold, a few shades lighter than the elder Praxian mech standing before him. His wings were covered in gruesome scars and were fanning the air in sporadic movements, and the devilish smirk on his faceplate seemed to imply that he was a mech of great masochistic and sadistic tendencies.

They both grinned, and spoke in unison, their rich and deep timbres curling together with a dangerous accuracy.

"Hello, brother. It has been some time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone guess who the blind mech's father is, and can you all guess who the Incarcerator's brothers are?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is very, very slight incest in the first section. It is literally four sentences unless your mind takes you elsewhere. Mainly sadism and masochism, but you all deserve a fair warning. Please don't hate me. :(
> 
> Also, I apologize profoundly for going overboard with the Incarcerator's messed up mind...

The tense atmosphere hung over everything, its deceitful and spindly fingers filling its targets with apprehension and irrational fear. They were such a futile and inconsequential thing, those emotions. One could not think while fear and doubt clouded their senses and made the ravenous tongue of terror swipe in a loving manner over their shaking heads.

He desired that look...that oh so pleasing expression that one acquired when they knew that their pitiful life was over. He yearned for the taste and the haunting sensation of the grief and shock and pain that overwhelmed his delicious prey, the infuriating yet arousing sound of their screams of regret and horror and agony as his poisoned talons and fangs tore through the weak and soft metal flesh of their neck cabling...or as they sunk deep within the supposedly protective armor of their spark casing. Oh, yes. He longed for the pulsing thunder of their fear-engorged sparks, and he longed for that beautiful collage of swirling colors that would soon come to a gruesome end...oh, _yes..._

_He longed for that **delicious** taste, the sweet sustenance that was their lifeblood..._

_Oh, how it would coat his glossa just so...not too much and not too little..._

_And how it would be oh so sweet...oh so warm..._

_Beautiful, beautiful warmth..._

He was torn from his dark and demented thoughts as ice cold talons traced over the side of his faceplate, dangerous razor points extremely close to vital circuitry as they concealed a thinly veiled threat.

Golden optics burned with a vicious warning as the monster glared down at the being who had dared to interrupt his wonderful thought process, a deep and dark snarl rumbling throughout his broad chassis as the powerful wings on his back rose to an aggressive height.

Amber optics burned as they locked onto the gaze of the larger mech, and the dim lighting reflected off of smooth and flawless silvery-white faceplates. Thin mouthplates curled back into a demented little grin, and the smaller mech giggled with strange glee as his wings twitched and fanned the air. "Movement interrupted your thoughts, brother? Apologies, indeed, are not allowed to be given." His huge talons traced the faceplate of the taller mech once more, carving into the scarred metal ever so slightly, filled with a lingering and brooding promise. The illusory caress was just enough to slice the metal open and allow the fresh Energon to rise to the surface.

The dark little mech giggled softly, amber optics flickering with unrestrained desire. Wings hiking high on his back, as if he were daring the other to interfere in any way, shape, or form, the smaller mech brought his servo closer to his chassis. A thin and slick glossa darted out to cleanse the lethal talons of the blood that stained them so, and the appendage curled around the slim digits with a chilling ease.

The towering mech rumbled deeply, his own taloned servo rising to caress that of the younger, uncaring of the oral lubricant and venom that stained the smaller servos. His powerful electromagnetic field warped ever so slightly to allow his sibling to recognize the fact that he held no ill intentions towards him. "Apologies are not desired, young one. Your hunger will be sated soon if you wait." He was uncaring of the shallow wounds marring the already tainted metal of his faceplate as he held the small yet deadly servos in his own, the iciness of both their grasps chilling the toxic air around them as the long and skeletal fingers of demented lust and hunger caressed the armor of those who were near enough to be overwhelmed by such a thing.

A cruel smirk curled the corner of the mouthplates of both monstrous beings, and armor shifted and rippled in a seemingly well-rehearsed series of movements. The darkness cloaking both supernatural beings writhed and moaned in delicious agony and delight...oh so simple, now. Just a little more, oh a bit more...hunger will be sated, hunger will be _satisfied..._

The dark little one pouted, the action so out of place on such a strange and mentally unstable individual, as his wings twitched and reflected the glow of the lights above them. "Hunger yearns _now,_ big brother. Hunger yearns _now_ , and it _will_ be satisfied, whether in your favor or not." Another soft and tinkling, almost musical chuckle shook the mech's chassis as pointed dentia were bared in a feral grin. "Might wishes to stay with you, does it not? Might will stay, yes it will, but only if the volatile spark is relieved of the aching hunger that plagues it so..."

Golden optics darted over to the large and extravagant door, where an alert and submissive Thunderstrike lingered. His uninjured wing was raised higher than the other, and while his scarred one pressed almost protectively against his backstrut the faint aroma of freshly spilled Energon filled the air. Despite the emotionless appearance the young Seeker was currently displaying, it was all too obvious that there was some amount of pain in play, a result of the multiple wounds covering the sensor-laden appendage reopening.

The sadistic grin that curled back the thin mouthplates of the dark blue youngling held enough warning.

Dark armor shifted in a manner similar to poisoned liquid, and fangs were bared briefly in a sudden and soft snarl. "The Seeker belongs to _me,_ brother. You would do well to remember that, for it will seal your fate in the forthcoming future."

A rumbling purr escaped the ravenous young one, and he leaned closer to the larger frame of his relative. Chilled servos rose and clawed digits were splayed against armor that was resistant to any type of force; the sharp edges searched for sensitive wiring and areas that would make the other relinquish his authoritative hold. When the twinge of welcome pain flared through the feared leviathan, he glared down at the other even as the faint flare of arousal and hunger stirred and bared its fangs deep within his spark.

"I am rather volatile this orn, young one." A large servo rose and engulfed the searching claws, a heavy and ancient warning burned deep within their depths. "Do _not_ try my patience."

Light and tawny optics flickered as the scarred wings lowered ever so slightly to show that he was not dimwitted enough to challenge his superior. "Patience is such a small and insignificant thing, brother. I..." A grimace appeared on the flawless faceplates as a visible tremor ran through the lithe frame; the molten depths of gold boiled a vicious shade of crimson for the briefest of moments. "Patience will not be tolerated, not while this ache roars and churns deep within a cold and motionless spark." Fangs were bared in a soft snarl of barely veiled agony, the venom coating them thickening and reflecting the dim lights as the small mech shuddered in distress. "The hunger demands...the hunger aches...stop it, stop it, _stop it!"_ The minuscule mech curled against the contradictory ice of the chassis of his brother, and unrelenting tremors racked the slim and powerful frame. "Make it stop, make it _stop, make it **stop!"**_

The monster of a mech flared his wings, the large and intricate panels displaying their obvious power in the motions. A servo lowered to caress that of the smaller one, offering a brief time of comfort to the ailing mech. "Patience, little one. You will no longer be ravenous if you wait for a short while."

The dark blue mech purred in satisfaction, his wings batting the air in slow and almost lackadaisical movements. The maelstrom of tremors that tormented the blue mech died down to mere and uncontrolled twitches, and his optics burned in dimmed arousal and consummation. He nuzzled his spiked helm against the cold and broad chassis of his older relative in an expression that showed he was thankful before he turned away and vanished silently down the hall, giving a slight nod to the lingering and wary Thunderstrike as he began to hum a tune that he was comforted with as a sparkling.

The sleek black mech who had arrived with the energetic and strange little one stepped forward, his claret optics burning. "You are making promises that you cannot keep, brother." His voice was a deep and gravelly growl, heavily accented with the elderly ghost of an ancient Praxian dialect. He leaned close to the taller mech, dark armor flared and wings raised ever so slightly, but not enough to provoke the larger into retaliating in a way that would be violent and merciless. "The little one will not be pleased should he find out. You do know what he will do to those around him as his mood worsens."

Golden optics flashed in the relentless grasp of cold fire. "Our little one will not provoke either of us. The most likely event that will occur will be the quenching of his hunger."

The black Praxian curled his mouthplates back into a soft snarl, his dark optics burning with a storm of irritation. "It is not healthy, my brother. Such a yearning should not be present in a young one like him."

The larger mech rumbled, his armor flaring from his lean and powerful frame. "Your twisted form of morality will not work on beings like us. We will not be restrained."

Engine clearly showing his protest, the sleek mech bared his venomous fangs. "Threats will not work on me, if you do not recall correctly."

Amber optics burned with a relentless fire as enormous wings flared. "Do my audios deceive me, brother? You dare to challenge me?" The leviathan of a mech took a step forward, a ravenous and maniacal spark igniting the fumes of his building rage. The massive and deceptively elegant wings rose high on his back, flared in a clear and ever present warning.

Crimson optics, filled to the brim with boiling emotions that would show only supported by a blackened spark, narrowed to thin slits as scarred mouthplates curled to form a horrific snarl. "I would be lying if I said I was not."

Moving in a flash, the towering and deadly mech backed the other against the nearest wall, armor flared and wings raised in pure and unadulterated aggression. Despite this, however, when he spoke it was in the softest of voices, an oh so gentle caress comparable to that of the slightest brush of a wing against the armor of a lover.

"I do not appreciate your tone, brother." Lethal fangs were bared in a feral scowl even as they lengthened to the enormous razor points that all feared. Wings unfolded and raised to their full, towering height, the bladed tips reflecting the light of the black crystal chandelier watching over them. "You would be wise to hold your glossa..." A clawed servo rose and then the black mech's helm was shoved against the wall, the colliding metals shrieking and squealing against each other. The crimson-opticed mech hissed in pain as the outer layer of dermaplating was forcefully scraped away, dark Energon rising to the surface to stream over the talons that restrained the other. Golden optics burned with a maniacal and ravenous light as their owner leaned even closer, ice-cold exvents lapping gently at chilled facial dermaplating. "...or I will have to be forced to _remove it."_

The slightly smaller mech made a hoarse noise that was a mixture between a growl and a laugh. "You have been holding back, brother. In a normal matter, you would have attacked young one sooner and without remorse." Crimson optics blazed with a feral and manic light as a powerful engine growled. "You have become soft during your time here, with these insignificant servants waiting on your every beck and call." Armor shifted in a manner similar to the path freshly spilled lifeblood would make against a stark and flawless metal surface. "You are not truly going to hurt either of us. You are too soft-sparked."

A deep and dark rumble, one that would immediately terrify and freeze any mech or femme who happened to be near them, came from deep within the chassis of the taller mech. Wings flared in primal aggression as golden optics narrowed, filled with warning that would have any other normal and sane mech trembling in their armor.

But the sleek black mech was unperturbed as a hoarse and strut-chilling laugh came from him. "Go ahead and try, brother. Nourish your so carefully kept hunger. Let it overwhelm you until no shred of sane logic and reasoning remain. I know you want to...I can see the _hunger_ and _lust_ burning in your optics." Sleek armor shifted in a deadly dance as an ominous rumble came from powerful engines. "But you would not do that, in truth, would you, brother? No..." A manic grin appeared on scarred mouthplates, venomous fangs lengthening in increasing excitement; a hoarse noise that was a mixture of a growl and a laugh escaped the dark mech's vocalizer. Mouthplates curled back into a disgusted sneer, crimson optics burning with a feral light. "Oh, yes, brother...you are _weak_ _."_

Scarred mouthplates curled back into a feral grin. "Would you like to test that theory, brother?"

The black mech did not bother responding, grinning viciously.

Rumbling deeply, the older mech motioned with his servo to Thunderstrike and the other guards. "Leave us. I want no indication that any of you have heard a word that passes between us." Turning to face his relative, he flicked his wings in a thinly veiled warning. "You do not want what happened to the Seeker who lost my merchandise happening to you." After they had murmured their understandings and left, the large mech turned on his brother with a vicious fury.

In a flash, the smaller was pinned to the wall, his elder brother looming over him with fury and hunger and lust burning in his amber glare. Clawed servos tightened around slim wrists, and with a lurching strength the joints and wires were crushed mercilessly. Crimson optics flickered at the welcome fire that tore through a frayed sensor network, and his back arched to brush his chest plating against that of the stronger.

With a feral snarl, the obsidian mech ground against his brother, wings scraping against the wall as his core temperature rose. Engine growling, tilted his helm back and moaned deeply, crimson optics flickering as lust made itself present in his electromagnetic field.

Amber optics burning, the larger mech leaned down, burying his fanged dentia in the cabling of the neck beneath him. The black mech growled, talons shredding through polished armor as he shuddered in painful pleasure.

"Brother?"

The small mech who had left earlier stood there, wings flared and servos crossed over his chest. There was an expression of deep irritation on his faceplate, and the scowl exposing his fanged dentia only increased it.

Groaning, the obsidian mech pushed against the larger, vents heaving. "Little one, do you not know how to knock?"

The younger mech grinned darkly. "Knocking is what you desire? Little one seeks something in return for his interruption."

With a rumble, the Incarcerator stepped forward, reeling in his sadistic desires for the moment. "What is it?"

A giggle escaped the small one. "Little one wants to join, and it must be in the might of your favor." Faceplate clearing of all emotion suddenly, he nodded to the hall. "Visitors annoy little one, big brothers. Little one wants to tear intruders to shreds."

Glancing at the oldest, the crimson-opticed mech shook his helm. "If they irritate you, brother, I will have a word them."

"You will not." Wings flared wide, the largest mech stepped forward, heading towards the door. "Those who disturb little one have come to join me in some business I have to take care of. If you will see yourselves out?"

Not waiting for a response, with a flick of his wings the eldest mech vanished.

Golden optics flickering, the youngest turned to his brother. "Big one in a bad mood from business dealing with annoyances?"

"I can only assume so." He placed a comforting servo on the small mech's shoulder panel. "Come, little one. You need your recharge."

* * *

It was cold and quiet, a normal stellar cycle in the Enforcer base.

A lone figure sat at a lone desk pushed against the far corner of the massive foyer-like room, optics shuttered and massive wings lowered. The dull, pounding ache that was ruthlessly spreading its deceptive fingers throughout his chassis was making itself known more and more, increasing in brutality each time. The cool air lapped at his towering frame, icy tendrils eager to pierce through the thick veil that the overwhelming heat of the monster created.

His ventilations were low and hoarse, rattling throughout his chassis with a muted ferocity that would shock any being that happened to be nearby. It would not, however, concern any of the said beings. No, he was far from having others grant him the mercy and graces of their concern, and he could care less about that grim realization.

_Bloodstorm..._

A hoarse, strained voice nipped with deceitfully soft yet venomous fangs at the edges of his chaotic reality. Claws tore through the refined metal of the table he was currently seated at, and the aching fire that had tore through his chassis mere joors ago roared to voice its fury. A harsh and unrelenting series of tremors began to assault his powerful and lean frame, further contributing to the attempts of the fire to make him relent beneath their combined force.

He grimaced, feeling the remnants of his sanity beginning to slip, the claws of the beast tearing into the protective shell that had formed around the seclusive corners of his mind. A deep rumble tore through the eerie silence that reigned over the empty room, the sound of his engines displaying their distress. Heat overcame him, making the process of cycling air through his forcefully spread manifolds become increasingly difficult.

_Fight it. Do not let this overwhelm you. Stay calm. Control._

_Give in. Do it. Do it now._

_You know you want to._

_Wipe them all out._

The triple changer groaned, talons shredding the thick metal of the desk beneath him. The dull ache in his processor and chassis was beginning to grow stronger, nearly overriding his senses as he struggled to control the dark urges threatening to overwhelm him.

His senses wavered as the faint pneumatic of the doors to the Enforcer base opening caught his audios. No, no, no. No one could be near him right now...he was not in control...

"Bloodstorm." A soft and musical voice appeared beside him, and a cool servo was placed against his overheated chassis.

A low growl rumbled throughout his chassis as he shook his helm, silently warning the intruder to stay away from him.

The grip on his armor tightened to uncomfortable levels as a low hiss sounded. "Stop trying to push me away, triple changer. You know as well as I that I am not leaving."

He forced his optics to online as he turned to level a glare at the intruder through a static-laced haze.

A pair of crimson optics stared back at him, narrowed in clear irritation and the slightest hint of exhaustion. As his optics readjusted themselves, he realized that it was the Seeker femme who had assisted in incapacitating him when he had lost control and nearly attacked all of the Enforcers that worked under him.

A deep growl rumbled in the back of his throat.

_Do it._

_Do it now!_

_Kill her._

_Kill her!_

Bloodstorm vented harshly and turned away, ventilations becoming hoarse and ragged as heat radiated off of his frame in thick and heavy waves.

The Seeker femme scowled and placed petite servos on the sides of his faceplate, forcing him to meet her burning gaze. But before he could, a wave of acid fire washed over his sensor network, and suddenly he was pinning the flier to the desk, fanged dentia bared and wings raised high in dark and demented aggression. Snarling lowly, he loomed over her with his extended talons digging well past thick armor and sinking deep into soft protoform.

She winced and shivered, her cold composure wavering the slightest bit as the considerable weight of the triple changer began to crush and warp her armor. Venting deeply to calm her frayed sensory network, she boldly met his gaze and spoke in a soft and emotionless voice. "Listen to me, Bloodstorm. Everything will be okay. You only need recharge. Do you understand?"

There was a flicker of recognition within the violent scarlet depths before the enormous mech shuddered violently and forced himself off of her. He would have collapsed had the femme not steadied him and assisted him in easing into a seat.

An irritated snarl came from behind the Seeker, and out of the shadows Darkblade appeared. "I would listen to the femme, mech. No matter how much your mind may be unraveling, going against her words will no doubt end in you being eviscerated and her being incarcerated for life."

Bloodstorm let out a shaky exvent, and with a grimace he braced his servos against the desk before him and rose to his pedes, heat radiating in wild waves off of his frame. "Where...are the...others?"

Darkblade grinned slyly, wings twitching as he examined his talons in a lackadaisical manner. "Out and about, you know. Wherever they happen to be."

The Seeker femme shot him a glare - which he merely shrugged off with a haughty flare of his wings - and placed a cool servo on the crimson mech's shoulder panel. "They had some personal errands to take care of. They will be back, of that I can assure you."

The crimson mech turned to face the other mech. "Keep the sedative on you. I am barely in control." As if solidifying his statement, his optics flashed a murderous crimson.

Darkblade vented deeply, leaning against a nearby wall as his engine rumbled. "You need not remind me. Should you give in, I will be ready to tear your neck wiring apart with my needle."

"Keep talking and you _will_ make him snap." The Seeker femme had moved behind the burgundy mech, hitting him in the back of his helm and ignoring the hiss he gave.

Bloodstorm gave a hoarse laugh, not noticing the way her wings flicked up in appreciation. "That is enough, Silverhearth. You need not antagonize the assassin so."

 _"The assassin_ has a name," the darkly colored mech growled, snapping at the femme as she made to hit him again. Dark optics smoldering, he glared at the crimson mech with a sudden ferocity as he stalked towards him.

Bloodstorm's optics flickered, and his wings swept back in a wide and aggressive motion. A deep snarl rumbled throughout his broad chassis, and he bared lengthening dentia in a manic expression as his talons twitched as if they were eager to tear into fresh prey.

"Blade..." Silverhearth extended a cautious servo, her voice taking on a stern tone as her optics ridges creased in worry. "I would not approach him at the moment."

"No, Silver. I am fine...for the moment," the triple changer growled softly as he shuddered with a dangerous brutality. His armor rippled as he backed away from the two, turning to brace himself against a nearby desk. "I would say not to antagonize me, but clearly that warning will not work with someone like Darkblade." A heavy vent left his flared manifolds as he shuttered his optics, wings lowering to a neutral position. "What do we have so far?"

Silverhearth stepped forward, moving around Darkblade, who was now seated on the floor in front of her, and took a datapad from her subspace. "We have a few interpretations of the phrases from the riddle we acquired from the Incarcerator, but they seem to lead us nowhere. Perhaps it is only because we are not thinking of the right things."

Bloodstorm ran a clawed servo over his faceplate, seeming to recollect himself before he turned back to them and took the datapad from the femme's servo. A deep rumble came from his engines as he glanced at her. "Where did these interpretations come from?"

"Where do you think? Most came from Darkblade and I, but _he_ helped with the others. We - " Silverhearth stiffened suddenly, her optics glazing over as static roared over her communications link. She faced the crimson mech again, wings twitching to express her regrets. "I apologize profoundly, Bloodstorm, but I am needed elsewhere." She inclined her helm to the burgundy mech as she exited the room.

Darkblade vented heavily as he stood, stretching his wings wide as he made for the door.

The triple changer narrowed molten golden optics as he glared at the retreating mech. "Where do you think you are going, mercenary?"

Dark armor rippling, he glanced over his shoulder. In the dim lighting, it almost looked as if the mech had no optics. "I have business in high places, triple changer." Noticing the way the mech's talons clamped dangerously over the online datapd, Darkblade scoffed and rolled his optics. "Surely you know who assisted Silver and I in decoding the messages. You can go to his residence on your own, can you not?" A twisted smirk curled back his mouthplates to expose his long and pointed dentia. "Or do you not possess the _control_ to do such a thing?"

Bloodstorm waved a servo dismissively. "If that is what suits you, then be my guest. But do not expect me to be the one to explain to the Chief as to why you decided to abandon your post."

Darkblade bared his dentia in a satisfied grin before vanishing from sight.

Letting out a deep exvent, Bloodstorm sunk into his seat and pressed a digit to his communications link. "Jazz, where in the world are you?"

* * *

A lone mech stood beneath the dim light of the stellar cycle, servos crossed over a narrow chest that tapered off to a slim waist. An infuriated vent left his flared manifolds as he tapped his digits against his armor, shifting his weight as his optics roamed over the land.

"He is late."

Beside the irritated mech, another appeared, large purple and slit pupil optics burning bright. "Ah, cool ya jets, mech. You shouldn't be talking like that when _he_ ain't here."

"If he was not late, I would not be speaking of him in such a way." The larger mech turned to face the other, and the weak light reflected off of his sleek silver armor. Bright orange optics burned from the darkness within the mech's faceplate as he glared at the smaller.

"You would be wise to watch how you speak of me when I am not present." A deep and rumbling voice sounded in the darkness behind him, and with a relieved vent the silver mech turned.

The mech that had appeared was facing was extremely tall, with sleek obsidian, silver, and crimson armor. Large and powerful wings rose high above him, tipped by blades that glinted dangerously in the dim light. His stance revealed that he was not in a pleasant mood, and that he had no doubt been interrupted from whatever it was that he had been doing.

"How's it goin', boss mech?" A large grin appeared on the smallest mech's faceplate as he spread his clawed servos in a twisted form of a welcome.

Wings flicked in clear irritation as the towering mech bared his dentia in a snarl. "Enough of your games, dealer." He turned to the silver mech, optics burning with a storm of emotions. "Do you have what I desire, Mercury?"

The silver mech nodded once, motioning with a clawed servo to the smaller mech. "If you would, Swindle."

Purple optics burning bright, the illegal arms dealer opened his subspace and pulled out a large metal case. "Everything's in here, boss mech. Just like ya asked."

The Incarcerator grinned, a horrific action full of fanged dentia and sadistic intention. "Excellent. You may leave."

Mercury bowed and Swindle laughed maniacally as he did the same, turning and leaving their superior to his thoughts.

Long and venomous talons traced almost lovingly over the metal case as powerful wings flared.

_The plan is coming into motion._

_Everything must be put into place accordingly._

_For the world as we know it..._

_...is coming to an end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will let you all believe the assumption that the Incarcerator is a Syphon, if that is what pleases you. I will neither deny nor approve of this fact.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_i am_

_always_

_stalking you, my dear._

_with my thoughts_

_my words._

_my breath._

_~Sanober Khan_

* * *

Jazz moved silently down the walkway, ventilations heavy and ragged as his visor burned unnaturally bright. He knew that he was trembling viciously, and his talons were digging deep into the soft and scarred protoform of his palms. It was a welcome pain as long as it tore his mind from that dark place it liked to go to all the time.

The Polyhexian was restless. He hadn't had a thing to do since they found the body the Incarcerator had left. They were even still attempting to decipher that Primus-forsaken riddle. It was something that was rather time-consuming, but he had not bothered to put much effort into it. Bloodstorm was more than capable of handling it himself, and the hunter knew that his special team would help him if he desired such a thing.

Jazz's engine growled, and he slowed his pace. His sensor network shivered and hissed at him, and his electromagnetic field rippled.

With a snarl, the bounty hunter whipped around, daggers extended and pressed against the throat of the mech who had been following him. Moving without warning, he pressed his weight against the larger mech, slamming him into the wall of the nearest building.

Two empty optic sockets greeted the enraged white mech, and the Seeker shifted with a flash of his fanged dentia. "Release me, hunter."

"Not 'til ya tell meh why ya're followin' meh." Jazz flared his armor, adding just enough weight to make the blade of his weapon sink into the thick cabling of his neck.

Darkblade rumbled, wings scraping against the wall as he seemingly stared at his opponent. "Why are you here? There is nothing for you."

The Polyhexian growled, narrowing his optics. "Tha's none o' ya business, an' Ah would suggest tha' ya stay outta mine." He bared his dentia, looming dangerously close. "Did Bloodstorm send you? Or was it the Chief?"

The larger mech tilted his helm, the faint glow of the automated lights around them reflecting off of his dentia. "Is it truly that hard to believe that you are not that difficult to track? Or is it only because of your hatred for me?" He did not give me a chance to respond as rambled on, "I have heard things from my audios on the streets. What they say is that the Incarcerator has some type of weapon that can cause mass destruction."

Jazz rumbled, armor shifting over his lithe and powerful frame. "Ah woulda heard somethin' like tha' if it ever happened. Nothin' goes on in these streets without mah knowin'."

"Well, I suppose you would be pleased that this did not happen in _your_ streets." Darkblade turned his helm to the side, light reflecting off of his dark and sleek armor. "The Incarcerator moved out of town to purchase the weapon." The larger mech's mouthplates pulled back into an unnaturally wide grin. "I thought you knew that."

The hunter stepped back abruptly, relieving the other mech of his not so considerable weight. His visor darkened, and he turned his helm to the side enough to show the gruesome scar that marred the once-sleek metal. "Why were ya followin' meh, assassin?"

Darkblade purred, wings shifting as he brushed unseen filth off of his armor. "Bloodstorm was deteriorating. I was growing irritated and impatient with his nonsensical ramblings. Need I explain myself any further?"

Jazz glared at the mech, a sneer curling back his mouthplates. "Ya're disgustin' meh, mech. Ah suggest tha' ya leave."

"I was not actually following you." The Seeker either chose not to or did not notice the bounty hunter's darkening mood. "I was on my way to visit my father. He owes me a favor." He shrugged, wings rising and falling with the motion. "But then I noticed you walking alone, lost in whatever brooding thoughts that run through your mind, and I took the measly time to wonder why I shouldn't mess with you. You do have a knack for somehow ending up in some sort of trouble."

"Ah appreciate tha concern, but Ah'm perfectly fine on mah own." Suddenly the Polyhexian was dangerously close to the larger mech, his dagger at his throat once more. "But if Ah catch ya followin' meh again, ya're gonna wish tha' you lost more than just yer optics."

Darkblade tutted and shook his helm, his engine growling roughly. "Now, now, my dear mech. You would not do such a thing. Not while Bloodstorm is currently so unstable and the others are nowhere near favoring you."

Jazz scoffed and rolled his optics, already moving away from the other mech. "Ya sure 'bout tha'? Storm, Silver, an' Lance ain't gonna do nothin' ta meh."

"Keep telling yourself that. I would love to see the look on your faceplate when you realize that your words are false." Darkblade watched the other mech leave before calling out. "Oh, and Jazz?"

The hunter growled and turned to glare over his shoulder panel. "Wha'?"

Darkblade grinned widely, a disturbing sight that made his faceplates seem all the more unsettling. "I was born without my optics. You should know that already since you make it a habit of studying your prey."

He was gone before the Polyhexian had a chance to respond.

Jazz muttered beneath his ventilations, continuing on with no real destination in sight.

* * *

_"War...that is what they call it to give the illusion of honor and law. It is chaos. Madness and blood and the hunger to win. It has always been thus and shall always be so." ~Libba Bray_

* * *

The meeting room was struck by chaos, loud and exhausted, angered voices competing with each other to be heard over whoever was the loudest.

"Our Energon stocks are going down, sir. Should we keep this up, we will no doubt have to set back and let the Superiors take over."

"Are you suggesting that we sell our stock and give up everything? How could you possibly believe that would be a good decision?"

"It's better than nothing, isn't it? Even if we somehow managed to crawl out of this sinkhole, we would never be able to truly recover."

"Sir, what do you propose we do?"

All optics fixed on the slim, tall mech at the head of the room. He had been seated during the discussion but had risen to his pedes to stare out of the window at the world outside. Two large and elegant wings extended from his back, flared and settled into a neutral position, and his armor was a deep purple-red color that reflected the light of the room. The mech had a cane in hand, and a large and deep scar ran up the side of his right leg. By his side, a large and elegant turbofox stood, the light of the room reflecting off of its elegant silver-blue plating. Two wide golden optics burned out of a narrow and scarred faceplate, and the beast rumbled in content as the hand of its master trailed over the spiked growths on its back, showing its pleasure by whipping its tail back and forth.

At the sound of the mech addressing him, the winged mech turned his helm. Two empty optic sockets seemed to stare at the others, but it was something that they had gone through and experienced countless times and they were all used to the blank, inexpressive stare of their boss.

The mech vented heavily, his wings twitching as he made his way back to the table. "We should wait and see what happens. I will not shut down my company simply because of the fear of my employees that the Superiors will take over. They are simply mechs with power that has gone to their heads and made them think that their company name instills caution in their competitors." He sniffed and turned his helm to the door, a scowl appearing on his faceplate. His pet rumbled beside him, plating rippling as it shifted in agitation. The mech calmed it without a word, instead addressing one of the mechs seated at the large table. "Chromedust, get the door."

The mech closest to the door rose to his pedes and entered and open command into the door's panel. A tall and winged mech entered, the light reflecting off his black and burgundy armor as he strode in with a confidence and dark sense of power that immediately chilled the atmosphere of the room.

An unsettling grin curled back his mouthplates as he turned his helm in the direction of the other sightless mech. "Father. I have matters I need to discuss with you."

The others seated at the table began to murmur amongst themselves, but with a growl from the largest mech, their boss, they all immediately silenced themselves.

"Leave. I will contact you all with further information about any developments that should occur." The large mech watched as the rest of them left, leaving him with the other blind mech.

A smirk curled back his mouthplates. "Darkblade. This is an unexpected surprise. I thought you would not be in the city for another few months."

Darkblade's grin faltered before disappearing completely. There was a change in his aura, something that the turbofox noticed without hesitation and represented with a growl, and the atmosphere of the room darkened even more. "My occupation requires me to travel unexpectedly. I was here, so I thought I would drop in to check on Dear Old Dad." He tilted his helm, almost surveying the other mech as he ignored the rumbling turbofox. "How are you?"

"I told you to call me by my designation, not that absurd moniker." The larger mech headed back to the window, placing a taloned servo against the cool glass. "As glad as I am to see you, my son, I know that you never visit without wanting something."

Darkblade vented heavily, a frown now flitting over his thin mouthplates. The beast whined, nudging the uninjured leg of its master. "We are investigating a serial killer here. He recently purchased weapons from a rival company of yours. I would like it if—"

"—you would like for me to look into whoever sold the Incarcerator the weapons." He grinned at the look of shock on the younger mech's faceplate. "Yes, I know about the killer, and I know about the investigation. Why do you think I have taken up extra precautions?"

"With all due respect, Father, I do not follow the shenanigans that you and your companies go through." Darkblade was openly scowling now, his servos crossed over his chest and his talons tapping restlessly against his armor.

"What did I just say?" The larger mech growled, wings flaring up and out as he made to approach the younger.

"My apologies...Kaon." Darkblade growled lowly, his scowl deepening as he turned away and made his way over to the nearest datapad shelf, running a servo over the smooth metal. The fox followed, nudging its helm against the side of the younger mech's leg until Darkblade finally reached down to run a hand over the pet's back, drawing a purr from it.

The larger mech was quiet for a moment as he listened to the movements of his son before he headed over to stand next to him. "You are unwell again, aren't you?"

Darkblade seemed to remain unaffected by the mech's words aside from the slight tensing of his electromagnetic field. "What would make you think that?"

"I know my own child." Kaon placed a servo on the shorter mech's shoulder panel, his talons brushing over the darkly colored armor with a deceptive gentleness. "You are exhausted, my son. What are they doing to you?"

The Seeker let out a deep vent, shaking his helm. "I am fine, Father. It is nothing that I cannot handle."

Kaon was unmoved, however, and the turbofox whined and looked up as it sensed the darkening of its master's mood. "Do not play tricks with me, Darkblade. You are overworking yourself again."

"You should be saying that to my boss," the younger Seeker growled, his scowl now seemingly carved permanently into his faceplates. "He's the one keeping us in for overtime."

The larger mech bared his dentia in a feral snarl, and his wings rose to compliment the action. "Your boss is a sick, deranged mech with too much time on his servos," Kaon countered, his engine growling to display his irritation. "It is a wonder why his superiors have not taken him off of the force yet."

Darkblade snarled, moving out of his father's reach. "Bloodstorm is more than capable to do his job. Yes, he may have some irregularities in the formatting of his processor, but he has put away more criminals than any other detective on the force in a very long time."

Kaon frowned and leaned against the shelf, engine roaring heatedly. "I do not like it, Darkblade. How many times do I have to tell you that? You are working with a mentally ill triple changer who could crush you without a second thought."

"It was my decision, Father, and I am glad that I made it." Darkblade clenched his servos into fists as he turned away sharply. "I thought you would be able to see that, but apparently you are still the conceited, disgusting mech that forced his way into my life long ago."

Kaon growled, wings rising high as he bared sharpened dentia. "You have no right to—"

"—I believe I _do_ have the right," the younger mech countered, his voice a dark and silky purr as he grinned maliciously. "You cannot keep me under your influence. That is the only reason you have decided to act as a parental figure for me."

Before the larger mech could counter, a rumbling voice tore through the sudden silence in the room.

"Sir? What is going on?"

An enormous mech appeared in the now-open doorway. His armor was silver in color, reflecting the lighting of the room and the hallway, and faint and jagged highlights of black and white were on his servos, legs, and wings. Two narrow and lime-green optics burned out of a scarred faceplate, and the mech had a handheld gun holstered to his side—a weapon that was clear and ready for use should anything cause it.

His optics widened as he noticed that younger Seeker, who was now growling in irritation as he took in the scene before him. "Sir, is that—?"

"—you have optics, don't you?" Kaon snarled, wings tense and armor flared. "What do you want, triple changer?"

The silver mech visibly bristled, but he reigned in enough emotion to keep it out of his powerful voice. "I merely heard a commotion, sir. I was checking to make sure that nothing was happening, with this serial killer business we have going on."

"We are fine, Steeldust," the purple-red mech hissed, claws ticking against his armor in his irritation. "You may leave."

The triple-changer did not seem to favor the tone the large Seeker gave him, but he nodded with a grim expression and turned away. "Of course, sir."

Kaon watched him leave before turning and facing his son, only to find that he was already heading towards the door. "Darkblade, where are you—?"

"—while you were busy playing with the triple changer, I received word of a reported commotion outside one of your warehouses." The burgundy mech flicked his wings, smirking softly as he kneeled and ran his servos over the fox's muzzle, eliciting a pleasured growl from the beast. "I have to be going now if you will excuse me. Contact my work communications line if you find anything."

The business mech tilted his helm, baring his sharpened dentia in a dark imitation of a grin. "You should contact me sometimes. There are so many things we have to catch up on."

"I would tell you to keep hoping for that, but I know that you possess no such thing." Darkblade had risen to his full and considerable height, now standing in the middle of the hall. "Besides, you would have to find me first, wouldn't you?"

... ... ...

I growled as I made my way down the hall, my electromagnetic field pulsing as I fought to keep down my rage. I had known that coming here would be a bad idea, but I needed the information to help with the case. I could not have Bloodstorm venting down my neck every second of the orn.

My wings registered the presences of multiple mechs and femmes around me, and they all steered out of my path when they noticed my lack of optics. It had taken me a while to convince myself that they moved so I would not run into anything, even though I knew the real reason.

Usually, I would not be so open about my presence in any place. My occupation made it hard for me to open up about anything, whether it be about myself or anyone that somehow managed to be close to me.

So one could understand my frustration as the mechs and femmes working for my father murmured beneath their ventilations as I passed them.

I was focused on one specific target: the triple-changer that had stormed into my father's office under the presumption that there was a serial killer somehow harming him. It was that presumption that angered me, that caused a festering concoction of revulsion and fury to boil within my spark. To see someone so willingly serve that monster who dares call himself a father was enough to make the faint taste of unprocessed Energon rise in the back of my throat.

I froze, my ventilations halted and my wings high and tense. Someone was watching me, more than I would care to favor.

I took a step forward, and they followed suit. I did it once more, and their movements coincided perfectly with mine.

With a growl, I unsheathed my sword and whirled around, pinning my unwanted visitor against the wall.

"Why are you following me?"

There was a powerful, booming laugh. "Now, Darkblade. Is that any way to treat your mate?"

... ... ...

Darkblade panted heavily as the mech looming above him kissed him roughly, grinding his heated panel against his own.

The Seeker tapped his talons against thick and almost overwhelmingly heated armor. "Calm down, Dust. We will have plenty of time to catch up later."

The triple changer growled, lime green optics burning. "I have not seen you in centuries, Blade, so I will have all the time that I want." He leaned down, nipping at the thick cables of his mate's neck with deceptively gentle and dangerously sharp dentia.

The assassin moaned, engines roaring heatedly. "I cannot stay long. We received word of a corpse found in a warehouse not far from here."

"You can investigate it later," Steeldust murmured, tracing his glossa over his partner's neck. "We need to catch up."

Darkblade groaned, shuddering beneath the larger mech. "As much as I would like that, I have to get going. My leader will most likely take off my helm—quite literally; he has more than enough problems—if I am late again."

Steeldust rumbled darkly, vibrant green optics burning dangerously bright. He leaned close, heated ventilations washing over sensitive armor and exposed protoform. "The next time you return, I will not be letting you go so easily."

The Seeker grinned, and if he had any optics they would have been glowing brightly in pleasure and contentment. He wrapped his legs around the larger mech's broad waist, using it as leverage to push himself up and wrap his arms around the triple changer's neck. He leaned close, trailing his glossa over the silver mech's audio. "I look forward to that."

Steeldust shuddered, turning to capture the burgundy mech's mouth in a heavy kiss. "You manipulative little bird." He reached up and around and picked the mech up, setting him down on the ground. "Get going. But if I hear anything about your decapitation, I will terminate your commander with my bare servos."

Darkblade chuckled, tracing his digits over thick armor. "I do not doubt that, but I will wish you good luck. My leader is not easy to terminate." He vented heavily, wrapping his servos around the silver mech's waist and resting his helm against his chest. "I love you."

"Mmm. Love you too." Steeldust pushed the Seeker gently away, a smirk on his faceplates. "Now go. I will see you later."

* * *

_"It turns out that an eerie type of chaos can lurk just behind a facade of order_ _—and yet, deep inside the chaos lurks an even eerier type of order." ~Douglas R. Hofstadter, "Metamagical Themas: Questing for the Essence of Mind and Pattern."_

* * *

The Enforcer base was in an organized state of chaos. Datapads and physical file folders were stacked in some places and thrown in piles in others. Some mechs were impaired by exhaustion and others were at their best. Voices rose over others while certain individuals spoke in hushed murmurs.

It was safe to assume that the recent tension was the work of the current serial killer.

"Sir, we have a situation over here!" One mech's voice rose somehow over the rest, addressed to the huge mech at the head of the room.

Bloodstorm turned from his conversation with Silverhearth, nodding as he cut their talk short and made his way over to the mech. "What is the problem?"

The mech looked up at him with silver and crimson optics, two of his digits placed over a communication headset over his audio. "Sir, I'm receiving a call from a young mech. He says that he heard shots go off in a warehouse near his place of residence."

"Where is this?" the triple changer rumbled, already motioning for Silver to come to him.

The dispatcher's digits flew over the keyboard before him, and he turned to look back at the towering mech. "Ten klicks from here, at a middle-class neighborhood called Maich near a cargo bay."

"Send a unit there immediately. Tell them that my team is en route." The crimson mech did not wait for a response as he turned and left the building with Silverhearth trailing him.

... ... ...

Bloodstorm shot down the road with his sirens blaring, the road immediately clearing as the passerby heard the warning and swerved out of the way.

Silverhearth followed from above, giving the triple changer directions to the warehouse. She knew that he did not need them and that his enhanced senses were more than enough to find whatever it was that was in the building.

The triple changer growled audibly, revving his engines to back the noise. He internally dreaded the fact that they would more than likely find another body, and another Primus-forsaken notes written by that madmech.

_Why? What compels an individual to murder someone else merely because they feel like it? What causes such an irreparable mental break?_

**_You know what does. You have experienced it before._ **

_Be silent. I cannot have any nonsensical ramblings going on in my mind._

**_You always have me in your head. I thought you realized that by now._ **

_I will neither approve nor deny your statement._

**_Primus. You are one stubborn mech, do you know that?_ **

_I thought you would have realized that by now._

_/Do you have any idea what this is about?/_ Her voice came over the open communications line, tearing the triple changer from his wandering thoughts.

The triple changer let out a deep vent. _/I cannot be sure, Silverhearth. This could either be the real thing or a trick./_

_/Let us hope it is the latter. Turn right at the next bend and you will be there./_

Bloodstorm came to a stop and transformed, already loping towards the Enforcers on the scene.

There were two Enforcers speaking to each other outside of the scene perimeter. They stopped their conversation as they noticed the Lieutenant. The larger of the two spoke up without Bloodstorm having to speak.

"Sir, there were reported sightings—before our arrival—of two mechs entering. According to witnesses, one was tall and winged while the other was plain and had no distinguishing features. While inside, there were shots fired and only the winged mech exited."

The triple changer nodded, already heading towards the entrance of the warehouse. "Silver, survey the scene from above and report any unusual sightings to me."

 _/Yes, sir./_ The Seeker swerved, changing directions as she soared back into the air.

The inside of the warehouse was in disarray. Windows were smashed and panels were torn and ripped up from the floor. A fluid that looked somewhat similar to processed Energon was pooled in the corner of the room, and there was a faint and pungent, stale scent.

Amber optics locked onto a door in the far back corner, surveying the huge metal panel. The edges of the metal were burned as if some form of acid was splashed over it carelessly, and deep gouges bearing some resemblance to claw marks were scattered about the metal.

A deep rumble escaped from the back of the mech's throat as he kneeled, optics narrow as he traced a talon over the shredded metal at the bottom of the door. He spoke to the technician behind him without turning. "Was there any evidence of foul play?"

"Those marks seem to signify a struggle of some sorts," the tech murmured, kneeling down next to the larger mech. "But it seems to have originated from inside the room as if the victim was being dragged in while the door was open and held onto it as if his life depended on it."

"Why is this door not open?" Bloodstorm rumbled, wings twitching as his armor rippled over his frame.

The technician shifted almost uneasily, but his faceplates remained devoid of any form of emotion. "There seems to be something blocking it from the inside, sir. We are unsure if it is evidence or not, and there is a possibility that there is a body in there. Knowing the condition that the Incarcerator leaves his victims in, we fear that forcing open the door could damage and evidence that may be needed in our investigation."

"Is there no back entrance?" Golden optics swept back over the scene, searching for any superlative or transient evidence.

"No, sir, none that we could find." The technician rose to his full height as the crimson mech growled and made his way across the room. "Lieutenant, sir?"

"Stay where you are." Bloodstorm bared his dentia as he approached the opposite wall, running a servo over the smooth and grime-covered metal. He was silent as he shuttered his optics and continued to run his servo over the wall. Then, without warning, he sunk his talons in deep and tore out a section of the wall, discarding the separate piece of metal with an air akin to disgust before throwing it to the side.

"Sir, what is it?" The technician hurried over, uncaring of the heat that was now radiating off of the larger mech.

Bloodstorm muttered something as he reached in and extracted something, shaking the dust and debris off of his servo with an irritated snarl.

"It is a datapad. Someone put it here recently, approximately a few breems after whatever death occurred here." The triple changer turned the device over, inspecting it for any dead-man switches or traps.

"How can you tell?"

"The adhesive is not completely dry. Whoever was here was in a hurry. They either wanted us to find this or they were specifically idiotic." The crimson mech cringed suddenly, baring his fangs as he turned away from the technician and leaned heavily against the wall.

"Sir?" The smaller mech took a few steps back, optics narrowing and armor flaring slightly as caution clouded his stare.

Bloodstorm snarled, bringing a servo up to press against his communications link. "Silverhearth, get in here. I am in need of a fresh pair of optics."

 _/Yes, sir./_ The Seeker turned and headed for the ground, transforming and landing on her pedes with a show of power and superiority.

When she entered the building, the massive crimson mech handed her the datapad and shuttered his optics with a grimace, leaning back against the wall.

Silverhearth frowned as she watched her commander's movements, turning to the wary and anxious technician. "How is he?"

The shorter mech shrugged, optics narrow but holding only a bit of emotion. "Well, he's not using explicit detail to describe how he's going to shove our optics up our exhaust ports, so I suppose he's fine."

"If you want to know what is on this, I suggest that you get your afts over here." Bloodstorm was glaring at them, wings twitching on his back as he vented heavily to expel heated air from his broad chassis.

"There's no reason to be so irritable," Silver countered even as she ambled over and took the datapad from the larger mech's servos. She scowled slightly as she took in the device, her wings flicking out behind her. "You checked it for dead-man switches and the like?"

"I would have sensed anything else," the triple changer growled back, optics burning as he crossed his servos.

Silver huffed in slight irritation before powering on the datapad. Almost immediately, a dark laugh filled the room, making them all tense. Silver, in her sudden agitation, dropped the datapad and scowled, making to pick it up before Bloodstorm shook his helm and stopped her.

The laugh cut off abruptly, and harsh and heavy ventilations replaced them.

_"Hello? Is anyone there?"_

A deep, lilting voice echoed from the device, filled with dark and malicious intent and pleasure.

"It is automated," the femme stated softly, shaking her helm even as her internal scanners ran a trace on the message. "We cannot answer."

 _"Aw, now please don't be like that. No answer? Hmm. Well, then."_ There was a faint crackling as if the speaker was moving around. _"I will start with introductions. My designation is Thunderstrike. I work for your big bad guy, the Incarcerator."_

The three officers tensed, engines rumbling in distress and anger.

 _"I'm new to the fold, as some would say. I suppose I hold some sort of significance within my Master's ranks. I get to sit by his side and listen to his wonderfully detailed musings as he strokes my helm to show that I am a good servant. But he has taken up a rather troublesome habit, you see. He is not well. One could say that he is almost sickly, in a way. I do not like seeing him this way. It is all your fault! You made him this way!"_ The mech's voice had dropped a few octaves, and he was all but screaming into the speaker.

He vented heavily and the crackling noise came again, followed by a deep groan.

"It's a different voice," the technician muttered, a frown appearing on his faceplates.

 _"Hey, I'm not finished talking."_ The unknown mech whined, sounding almost childish in his strange disappointment. _"I need to tell you what my Master wants to let you know."_ He paused as if for dramatic effect before giggling, but then the sound was cut off as a louder and agonized moan came across the speaker. The mech growled, and then there was the sickening sound of armor tearing and Energon lines spurting as a maniacal roar exploded into the room.

 _"Do not cut me off! Master will not be happy! The sound is tainted now by your filth!"_ The mech was snarling deeply as a powerful engine rumbled and growled in the background, adding to the pained whimpers of the prisoner.

_"As I was saying, Master wants to let you all in on a little secret. He wants you to know."_

Bloodstorm glanced at Silverhearth, who was tapping furiously away at her built in transmitter. She shook her head furiously, optics burning as she mouthed, _No luck._

 _"Master has big plans for the future. Master has things planned that will make you giddy. But Master is sad, too. Master is sad because he cannot play the game with you fully. He wants to play, but you cannot follow the clues and find him. He's hiding, and you are too weak and conceited to look. You think he will come and expose himself, but he will not. Master is too smart. He will not make a mistake like that, and I cringe to say that he would ever be capable of such a thing."_ He was laughing again, and the faintest hints of further insanity began to taint the sound. _"You all are a group of fools, yes you are. You think you are so smart with your guns and triple changers and special force teams, but you use that so-called power to hide your cowardice and weakness. A real mech would have come forward and looked Master in the optic without a hint of fear, but you are too pathetic to even think of doing such a thing."_

"The nerve of him—" The technician stepped forward, servos clenched into fists, but his actions and intent were deterred by the snarl that came from the Lieutenant.

 _"Oh, but little do you know_ _—my Master's plans have already started. They have already started, and you do not know—or should I say, you had not known because I just told you."_ The mech laughed again, but when he spoke, his voice was octaves deeper, filled with a sadistic desire and sense of authority. _"What you think you know is merely a fable. There is a moral hidden somewhere, but you will not find it. Not until it is too late."_ The mech paused for a moment as if seeming to contemplate something. _"You may want to look in the blocked off room across from you. I think you will find something of great use to you."_

The message cut off abruptly.

Silverhearth growled suddenly, her optics narrow and wings raised and flared wide. She stalked over to the disfigured door, her engine rumbling in distress and irritation. "Bloodstorm." She knelt in front of the door, her talons swiping over the floor.

Her optics locked onto the two mechs behind her.

"It's Energon."

The technician bared his dentia in agitation, his servos trembling even as they clenched into fists. Beside him, Bloodstorm snarled and flared his wings, stalking over. With a determined huff of his vents, the triple changer dug his talons into the door. The metal creaked and groaned in protest for nearly a breem, but eventually gave way, and with an audio-splitting screech of metal warping and tearing Bloodstorm ripped the door from its hinges and cast it aside.

He grimaced as he took in whatever was inside, and with a furious and sudden roar he slammed his fist into the nearest wall with enough force to dent the thick metal. The armor of his chassis rippled as he shuddered violently, and dark and dangerous rumbles came from his engines.

Inside the room, the body of a mech hung from the ceiling. A coil of shredded and barbed wire was wrapped around his throat, and the wounds beneath the makeshift rope were covered in congealing Energon. The mech's mouth was open in a silent scream, and his optics were wide with endless terror. The armor of his chassis was burned and scarred beyond recognition, and the faintest hints of his innards peered through the gaping holes. Despite the obviously gruesome wounds, the mech's helm was horribly disfigured, as if someone had crushed it in a fit of rage.

"By Primus," the technician muttered, optics wide with explicit horror and disgust as he seemingly fought the urge to purge his tanks. "I-If it's fine with you, I'm going to grab a photographer to—" He didn't finish his statement as he vanished within a second, and the sounds of dry retching came from outside.

"Storm." The Seeker femme carefully made her way into the room, bending over to pick up a stray piece of metal. "It is another riddle."

The triple changer groaned deeply, optics flashing crimson as he straightened almost unsteadily.

A series of intricately placed and designed glyphs covered a small and thin sheet of metal. It had been placed and carved with a cautious and careful servo, and each dip and whirl in the carvings suggested a deep and ingrained sense of intelligence and cunning.

_Time has run short, my pawns. The game will begin soon. Horror is formed in the pit of black despair and doom. Fools believed that the power of deceit grew deep within, but have yet to experience the full potential that flows through the poisoned veins of this world. Fester and rot, it will. Boil and overflow in a cup of molten gold, and infection will spread across the land. Promises run dry and truth is lifeless, for it will be the fate of all animate creatures._

_Yours Truly,_

_The Incarcerator._

"Storm." Silver's optics were wide, and she was staring at the offline mech before her. "This is the mech we sent the first riddle to. This is Heath."

Bloodstorm tensed with his optics fixed on the hung mech. His razor dentia were bared, and in a second he turned and stormed off, speaking in a darkened growl.

"Bring in the rest of the technicians. Have them document everything, and then report to the corpse examiner. I want full autopsy reports on every inch of his frame _yesterday."_

Without another word, the enraged mech was gone, having transformed into his aerial mode and shooting off in the air.

* * *

_"He was roused from a joyous dream of feasting, of drinking blood and sucking warm marrow from the bone. His sons and daughters swarmed like ants upon the surface of the Earth, ripe in their terror, delectable in their anguish. He swept them into his mouth and their insides ran in black streams between his lips...this sweet dream rapidly slipped away..." ~Laird Barron, "The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All: Stories_

_..._

_"Shower while there were two bodies in the bathtub, and he was sane. He drilled holes in the heads of living people to make them his unresisting companions, and he was sane. He ate a bicep which he fried in a skillet, tenderised and sprinkled with sauce, and he was sane. For hours he lay with corpses, hugging them, cherishing them, and he was sane. He even kept assorted heads and skulls, and two complete skeletons, for eventual use in a home-made temple, and he was sane." ~Brian Masters, "The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer_

* * *

He sat tall and strong in his large and elegant chair, amber optics blank and faceplate devoid of emotion. He cradled his chin in his servo, tapping his talons against the scarred and cool metal of his faceplate.

The bothersome golden Seeker was on the floor beside him, carving unrecognizable glyphs and symbols into the slick floor. Normally his master would have reprimanded him, but with the way the young mech's mental state was deteriorating, he let him do as he wished—for now, at least.

With a flick of his large and bladed wings, the seated mech shifted, manifolds spiraling open to release scalding air. The child shuddered, wings drawing back against his body, but he showed no other emotion aside from that.

"Master." A rich, silky voice tore through the thick and heavy silence.

"Hmm?" The Praxian flicked his optics to the side, not making optical contact but allowing the smaller mech to continue.

The Seeker stopped carving designs into the floor, bringing his servos up to his face and licking off the excess metal shavings with a purr. "What are we doing?"

The Incarcerator frowned, optics darkening a few shades even as his faceplate remained inexpressive. "Explain yourself."

Thunderstrike turned his helm to look up at the larger mech, black-flecked crimson optics bright. "Why do we take care of nuisances this way when all we do is make the arrogant justice mechs come after us?"

"Why, it is all for the chase." Prowl shuttered his optics, tracing his free servo over the sensitive neck wiring of the delicate little beast. He shivered and growled, leaning into the touch as his chassis began to heat up. "Do not tell me that you are having second thoughts."

Crimson optics brightened a few shades as the smaller mech shook his helm. "No, Master. I was only wondering. I cannot help but be curious."

"Curiosity is irrelevant. It only causes confusion and doubt." The Praxian rose to his pedes, optics flashing as he strode across the room. He did not react as the golden mech stood as well, following the killer with soft and hesitant steps.

The large mech paused, wings rising high as glared at the wall before him. A deep rumble came from his powerful engine, and his optics narrowed ever so slightly as he tapped his talons against his armor.

"Thunderstrike."

The Seeker glanced up with a faint frown flitting over his mouthplates. "Yes, Master?"

"Why are you here?"

Thunderstrike hesitated slightly, multicolored optics flickering. I do not—"

"—do not take me for a fool." The Incarcerator whipped around, fanged dentia bared and wings flared wide. "You know what I mean."

"With all due respect, Master, I have no intention of sharing my past and what endeavors I held highly during that time." The younger mech did not meet the killer's optics, instead looking off to the side even as his wings rose and settled into a neutral position.

In a flash, the Incarcerator was looming over the Seeker. A stifled moan of pain and pleasure escaped the golden mech's vocalizer as he was roughly pulled by his scarred wing and slammed against the nearest wall with enough force to dent the metal.

Black and crimson optics darkened as they boldly met those of his superior, filled with a dark lust and burning hunger.

The killer vented heavily and harshly, sending waves of scalding air over his subordinate. Leaning close, he sunk his sharpened dentia into the wiring of the golden mech, savoring the pained cry that it elicited. His talons dug deep into shining, polished armor, and a powerful roar came from his engine.

"Watch your tone, Seeker. You are fortunate that I have further uses for you." When the smaller mech only groaned softly, the Praxian growled and tightened his grasp, feeling the armor give way and sink deep into soft protoform and Energon lines. A tremble overcame his body, and he moaned as the scent of the precious fluid met his olfactories.

_"Do you understand?"_

Thunderstrike panted roughly, optics wide and burning bright as he nodded. "Yes, Master."

The larger mech purred, wings fanning the air as he stared at the golden Seeker. He trailed a talon over the sensitive wiring of his prey's scarred wing, grinning deviously as he watched the other mech's reaction. "You are a strange one, are you not?"

"Yes, Master." Thunderstrike nodded, shuddering as the dangerously sharp points skimmed over sensor clusters, digging his talons into the metal of the wall behind him.

At that moment, the door to the room slammed open, and a large mech stormed in, wings flared wide and crimson optics bright.

Those two boiling pools of scarlet fixed on the two mech before him, and a deep and aggressive snarl came from the back of his vocalizer as he advanced on the two. "Brother, what are you doing?"

The elder mech snarled, baring razor sharp dentia as he fanned his wings to show his fury. "What is the meaning of this?"

With a dark rumble, the obsidian mech groaned. "I am restless. We are not doing anything!"

With a heavy vent, the Incarcerator tapped against the wing of the young Seeker beneath him. "Thunderstrike, find some other task to occupy yourself with. I am in need of a conversation with my brother."

Golden armor shifted and rippled as the younger mech nodded and bowed deeply once he was relieved of the weight of his commander. "Yes, Master," he murmured, and then he was gone without a noise.

The Incarcerator faced his relative, optics narrow. "What made you think that you could storm in like that?"

"I would apologize, but I am not capable of such a thing," the younger mech snapped, dentia still bared. "You have yet to make any sort of advancement. My contacts have informed me that the Enforcers are closer to the clues than we first thought."

"My dear brother, that is the point." The larger mech was suddenly behind the other, and he placed heavy and large servos on his shoulder panels. "What would you have me do? Leave a trail right back to us?" He purred in forced disappointment as he began to dig his talons deep into thick and scarred armor. "What would you do if I did do that? It would no doubt put dear Young One in harm's way."

A static-laced groan escaped the subordinate's vocalizer as the razor points began to tear into Energon lines. "You have a way with words, brother. That is something I cannot deny."

"You would not even if you knew what was best for you." The Incarcerator growled as he straightened, drawing his talons out of the deep and openly weeping wounds and tracing his glossa over the Energon-stained points, flicking his wings in a motion of pleasure. "Your taste still appeals to me, brother."

"You have yet to answer my question." The black mech boldly glared, crimson optics burning brightly.

"And you will wait until I deem you ready of the answer," the Incarcerator growled roughly, powerful engines roaring. "You will not question my motives, or so help me I will carve out and devour your spark right here and now." When the younger mech did not bother to respond, he grinned darkly and headed to the door. "Gather all of my pawns in the meeting room. There are things we need to discuss."

The younger mech scowled slightly before settling his faceplate into a mask of impassiveness. "What of the young Seeker, then?"

The killer waved a servo nonchalantly as he stepped out into the hall. "Leave him be, for now. He is too agitated to perform at full function. Should he return, debrief him immediately. He will command his own section soon enough."

Prowl bared his dentia in a horrific imitation of a grin as he flared his wings wide. "I will be back momentarily. I have...business to attend to."

And with that, the mech was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the chapters will be something like this (as in, focusing on the special task force. I feel as if it is necessary for a bit of insight on the members of Bloodstorm's team). In case there is any confusion on the ranking order, the Chief is commander and Bloodstorm is his Lieutenant. Bloodstorm has his own team, and in this, he is the commander with Stormlancer as his second, Silverhearth as his third, and Darkblade as their "muscle."
> 
> Next chapter, I'm thinking of doing a POV for Thunderstrike, but we'll get to that when we do. The order for the insight on Bloodstorm's team will be Darkblade, Stormlancer, and Silverhearth. And then the Incarcerator decides to have some fun and possibly scar more than enough individuals.
> 
> I'm thinking of putting a POV for Heath (Bloodstorm's informant and encryption specialist—the dead mech in the warehouse) but I don't feel as though it is necessary. I mean, I'm pretty sure Heath was a nice mech and all, but...what do you guys think?
> 
> Let me know if there are any mistakes.
> 
> Once again, I apologize for the extremely long wait! R&R, pleaze!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been a while.
> 
> I can't even begin to express my sincerest, deepest, most heartfelt apologies. If you follow me, you'd have seen that I began Fairy Tail, which is extremely long and intensive and amazing and heartbreaking all at the same time. Then there's all the others—Haven, Transformers, Durarara!, Darker than BLACK. And I even rewrote one of my old Danny Phantom and Avengers stories, Arbitrary, into another deeper and darker version.
> 
> To be honest, my Transformers stories have been on the down low since my anime and manga binge started again, so I just...I apologize profoundly for that.
> 
> Also, I just realized an error with my story. Well, it's kind of an error. To be a serial killer, you have had to have killed three or more separate people at different places and times. So far, Prowl has only killed two at separate places and times. So, technically, this would make him a spree killer. But, as you will see in the last section (no skipping ahead, just read the story) he is now officially a serial killer!
> 
> Please accept my apologies and review! It really helps with my writing to know what you guys think!

Smokescreen growled as he paced the length of the room, servos crossed over his broad chest and his wings tucked in low against his back. Prowl had left some joors ago, and his absence left something to the imagination.

He knew that the little golden Seeker was not to be touched, but there was something that attracted the Praxian to him. He had some dim, barely there feeling that if he came to know the mech better, he would be struck in awe at what he was truly capable of.

Shaking his helm roughly, the large black mech strode out of the room, heading towards the private library. He had to clear his processor before he began to think even more irrationally than he already was.

He grunted as he collided with a cool, solid body, rearing back with a deep growl rumbling in his throat. Glaring down at the offender, he bared his dentia in a scowl.

To his surprise, none other than Thunderstrike stared back at him. In the dim lighting of the hallway, his multicolored optics seemed as dark and endless as the deepest recesses of the Pit. The young mech's helm was tilted to the side at an odd angle, and his wings were held in a neutral position as he stared in some strange, morbid curiosity at the larger mech.

"You are not to be outside of the conference hall," Smokescreen growled, wings rising to a dangerous height.

The small mech continued to stare at him, a frown pulling down the corner of his mouthplates. "Master never said that I had to stay in that room. I left because I was lonely." His voice was soft and monotonous, a cold drone that echoed eerily in the nearly vacant hallway.

"Lonely? You have the resources of one of the most powerful mechs on the planet at your disposal," the Praxian hissed, feeling an unwanted sense of dread and unease making its way down his spinal components.

Thunderstrike shook his helm, his optics hooded and almost completely hidden from the light as he frowned deeply. "No, I do not. You have made it perfectly clear that I do not."

"What are you blathering on about? My brother has taken a liking to you." Smokescreen scowled and flicked his wings, the faintest hint of curiosity appearing in his field.

"I am nothing more than a servant. My lord wants nothing more of me," the golden mech muttered, glancing up at the larger mech. "You do, however."

Armor flaring from his frame, the looming mech snarled and bared his dentia, a sign of the temper he was rather well-known for. "What did you say?"

Thunderstrike giggled, bouncing on the balls of his pedes. Wings twitching behind him, he grinned and outstretched a servo, all the while keeping his darkened gaze on the Praxian.

Smokescreen tensed as the young mech's talons came close to scratching his armor, a deep rumble coming from the back of his throat.

"You're strong, aren't you?" Thunderstrike purred, tilting his helm to the side and staring at the larger mech through hooded optics. "You have to be in order to match up to our lord."

"My brother," Smokescreen rumbled and narrowed his optics as the mech began to search for sensitive points on his chassis. "He is my brother."

Thunderstrike growled and leaned against the obsidian mech's chassis, clicking his glossa in mock disappointment. "You and I both know that what you speak is different from what you believe. My lord may be related to you by blood, but he is not what you would call family, is he?" He giggled again, and this time the noise was becoming stained with the insanity the little mech often showed in other places. "Big mech doesn't even know what family is, does he?"

Smokescreen lurched forward, using his momentum to pin the smaller mech against the wall. "You idiotic little weakling. You should know your place. Don't you realize that I could have you demoted?"

"Demoted?" The golden mech threw his helm back to laugh, his chassis trembling and his vents flared to let out heated air. "I am nothing in this army but a mere pet!" His laughter was wild and shaky as his electromagnetic field pulsed erratically. "Nothing but a pet, nothing but a pet, nothing but a pet!"

"You are even crazier than I first imagined." The obsidian mech pressed his weight into the other, surprised at the moan the yellow mech gave.

Thunderstrike stared at him through blazing crimson-black optics, his grin sending a not entirely unwanted chill down the Praxian's backstrut.

"Well? Don't you want to play?"

* * *

Stormlancer sat quietly in the shadows of his office, helm resting on his servo and optics dimmed. He had been charged, along with Silverhearth, to decode the riddles that the Incarcerator had left them.

There had been nothing at the first crime scene. The body had been strapped to a chair, and there had been meticulous, almost obsessive neatness with the placement of the cuts, the carvings into the protoform, the way he had carved out just one of the mech's optics.

_I am here. Let the game begin, Iacon._

He glared at the digital photo spread out before him, searching for any clue that could give him some sort of answer to the one burning question at the back of his mind.

_Why?_

Why would someone do something like this? What had that mech deserved, other than a normal, peaceful life, a sparkmate, a home, possibly a child? He could have lived on in old age, died peacefully.

But no. That was not the path fate had given him.

The mech was practically nameless in their records. Aside from his given designation, Quartz, and his last place of employment, there was nothing on him. He had been jobless for vorns, and then he appeared briefly at a lodging building that housed mechs and femmes in need. And then, he vanished. Nothing was left. All trails tied to him had been eradicated, and he just...disappeared.

Centuries later, he shows up tied to a chair, almost minus his optics and presented like some twisted present topped off with a bow. Only, in this case, the bow was the blade sticking out of his chassis.

And then there was the message on the datapad. Bloodstorm had recorded it and sent an audio file to him via comm link.

The message had been given by a mech named Thunderstrike, who claimed to be a servant of the Incarcerator. His words, "I'm new to the fold," offered some sort of insight into the way the killer ran his following—apparently, there were opportunities to rise within the ranks and hold some sort of power that could be comparable to that of their ruler.

_Master has big plans for the future. Master has things planned that will make you giddy...he cannot play the game with you fully. He wants to play, but you cannot follow the clues and find him._

Stormlancer growled, baring his dentia in momentary frustration. There were no clues to follow; that was the problem. He tampered with their minds by sending riddles, by showing he believed in some otherworldly game. He left little to nothing at the crime scenes, despite the glorified way he presented his victims.

The first mech—chassis half propped against a metal chair, covered in shredded armor peppered with deep, ghastly lacerations, nanites struggling to perform their task. But the only thing that stood out to any of them was the optic hanging from the socket, the gashes on his faceplates and the metal hanging from the wounds, and the frozen expression of horror that would contort his expression forever.

Heath's body had been even more horrific, but there was a certain cleanliness in the way the body was displayed. The first victim had been strapped to a dirty old metal chair; Heath was hung from the ceiling, his wounds on display for any and all to see, and his faceplates showing that same chilling mask of pure fear that would make any mech or femme's spark run cold.

Stormlancer had tried to make sense of the dismembered body parts as well. There seemed to be no point in the arrangement—it was almost as if a child had put the tank-wrenching images together, merely creating drawings from what they were given. The knives and the gun, however—it just made no _sense._

The mech vented heavily and shook his helm, trying to organize his thoughts. He pulled up another datapad, the one containing each riddle found at the crime scene and the one that had been in the video the Incarcerator had sent them.

_I am here, and you are there. Where I will strike next, where, oh, where? Madness will plague, games will be vague. Time will run out, and the fuse will run short. Disarming is not an option; fear will be a given notion. The hand will constantly be in motion. Time is running out. Will you win or lose? The death will be personified by a fuse._

_Master has big plans for the future. Master has things planned that would make you giddy. But Master is sad, too. Master is sad because he cannot play the game with you fully. He wants to play, but you cannot follow the clues and find him. He's hiding, and you are too weak and conceited to look. You think he will come and expose himself, but he will not. Master is too smart...my Master's plans have already started_ _—what you think you know is merely a fable. There is a moral hidden somewhere, but you will not find it. Not until it is too late._

_Time has run short, my pawns. The game will begin soon. Horror is formed in the pit of black despair and doom. Fools believed that the power of deceit grew deep within, but have yet to experience the full potential that flows through the poisoned veins of this world. Fester and rot, it will. Boil and overflow in a cup of molten gold, and infection will spread across the land. Promises run dry and truth is lifeless, for it will be the fate of all animate creatures._

By Primus, he really needed a fresh set of optics on this.

Venting heavily, the black mech rose to his feet and ran his servos over his faceplate. What he needed was a nice, long drink at the nearest Energon bar, but his code of work ethics didn't allow him to do such a thing. Besides, an accident on the job now prevented him from consuming high-grade Energon in overly abundant amounts.

"Jus' how long have ya been 'ere, mech?"

Stormlancer turned to see the Polyhexian bounty hunter leaning against the doorframe. A dangerous smirk curled back his mouthplates and exposed the points of his razor-like dentia.

"Jazz." The black mech turned away, gathering the datapads that were spread out on his desk. "Why are you here? Bloodstorm put you specifically on morning shifts."

The silver-white mech's smirk widened into a grin, and he moved to hover over the larger mech. "Ah'm jus' bein' curious, is all. There ain't no harm in tha', is there?"

Stormlancer continued to clear off his desk, placing the datapads in his subspace and organizing excess materials. "Get out of my office, Jazz."

The Polyhexian frowned, his visor catching the light as he tilted his helm to the side. "Mech, Ah ain't tryna start nothin'. Ya know meh, just a little curious—"

"Out." Optics dark with exhaustion and irritation, the large mech turned to glare at his offender. "I won't ask again."

"Fine, fine. Ah'm out." Jazz turned and waltzed out of the room, waving his servo in the air. "Ah just thought that ya would like ta know—"

Stormlancer cursed, and the cleared datapad in his servos was crushed with barely a second thought. "Get. Out."

Jazz glared at the mech before turning and vanishing.

The black mech vented heavily, casting the broken datapad aside. He could have sworn that he had programmed his emotions to as low as he could handle rationally. Hmm. His factory settings must have made errors in recalibrations.

With one last glance towards the office, Stormlancer shut off the lights and left the building.

* * *

He wavered in the velvety darkness, the chill of the room he was in a welcome bliss against his armor. He did not—could not—move. His pedes seemed bolted into the damp metallic earth beneath him, and the feeling of optics on him had returned.

His encounter with the large black Praxian had left much to the imagination. He could remember it all—the talons, the dentia, the pain, the ecstatic agony as his Energon bubbled up to the surface. He wanted more—he _needed_ more. It was a burning desire festering in the bottom of his spark, and he just couldn't get enough of it.

It hadn't really been a surprise when the big black mech had pushed him aside and left the room after their little session. He had more pressing matters; Thunderstrike was not a simple-minded fool. He knew that being the second eldest brother to his lord was no easy task.

He shuddered and leaned heavily against the nearest wall, his talons gouging out shreds of metal.

_I want you to show me every twisted, disgusting thought you've ever had. I want your gaze to crush my bones, and I want your words to tear my flesh apart._

Golden armor rippling over a lean, powerful frame, the mech groaned and sunk to a sprawled sitting position with his back against the wall. His wings hissed out their agitation, but his body had been trained to take a sheer pleasure in the infliction of pain. He was used to it, and it was something he could understand. But what was confusing him was the fact that Smokescreen, second to only the horrific power of his eldest brother, had taken an interest in him.

 _Graceful and beautiful. That's what you are._ His mind hissed tempting words at him; it was his only way of attempting to make sense of this mess. But he was confused. He was neither of those things. Graceful was reserved for the femmes who watched where they stepped or moved without a sound. Beautiful was a word used to describe an aesthetically pleasing mech or femme, and he was simply a lap dog for a glorified crime lord.

_What? No. No. Don't think bad of your lord. He is your savior._

_Savior? Don't confuse yourself. You don't even know the meaning of the word._

_Don't listen to them. He saved you from being without a spark on the side of the street._

A low whine escaped the back of his throat, and he began to rock back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

_Without a spark? Less of a spark? Is that_ _—do you speak of a whole spark or a part of a spark?_

_Does it matter? You need your emotions. You need your control—for something to hold your leash and tell you sit and think._

_But if I was sparkless, would that mean I would have to apologize? For having no feeling or remorse?_

_Ha! Why would you apologize for being sparkless? No one would have apologized for making you that way._

He was acting like a fool, having his mind all over the place. There was nothing wrong with being sparkless, with having your emotions tuned down to just about nothing, with disregarding idiotic comments.

Thunderstrike froze, a grin appearing on his faceplates.

He finally understood.

Smokescreen had chosen him because he saw the darkness. The endless abyss filled with pain, regret, hatred, insanity. He saw it, and he had been given a taste of it for nothing but a brief moment. And he knew that he would come back for more and more and more. Every time.

The darkness concealed the truth for both of them, and he supposed it would have to take more than just one mech to see what stood before them, lurking in the shadows, and struggled to reveal itself as a threat.

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a young mech._

_And he grew up and turned into a monster._

_The demon loomed over him, endless optics burning a hole into what little that remained of his soul. Thunder rumbled in the back of its throat and hellfire burned in its servos as it tilted its horned helm in some strange confusion._

_And the little mech laughed and waved at the beast as the blood and screams of his tormentors bathed the land._

_Follow me, the beast roared, leathery wings flared and razor teeth bared. Follow me and you will know the purpose of the true darkness within you?_

_The mech was confused. He had no purpose. He had been abandoned. No one had ever cared for him. He already knew about the darkness inside of him._

_The monster told him stories about how he could never truly hide, about how he could never truly be safe. Because even though he knew how to control the endless abyss growing inside of his spark, he would never amount to his true potential._

_There is no such thing as true potential, hissed the monster as it laid waste to yet another imaginary town. There is only lies and regret. That is what makes you stronger._

_And the little mech knew then that the darkness was the only thing comforting him in this strange, twisted world._

* * *

Bloodstorm groaned as an incessant ringing sounded in his audio, running his servos over his faceplate.

"What?"

_/Bloodstorm, I thought I told you to keep the Polyhexian on a very tight leash./_

"Stormlancer." The triple-changer vented heavily and stood, stretching his wings out with a grimace. "What did Jazz do?"

 _/Interrupted my studies, for one. And we have advanced nowhere with the riddles. There just isn't anything that's connecting them. I don't know./_ The mech let out a deep, long vent and was silent for a moment. _/We need another set of optics on this./_

"You were at the Enforcer Headquarters?" Bloodstorm demanded, heading over to stare out of the large, wall-length window on the opposite side of the room. "I thought I specifically told you to go home and take a break."

 _/Clearly, I did not do that./_ There was a moment of silence before the mech spoke again. _/I won't remind you about the Polyhexian again./_

"He has a name," the triple-changer found himself saying, not entirely against his will. "Perhaps you wouldn't feel the way you do if you took the opportunity to get to know him."

_/Why would I ever do that? Unless he shows some way of actually being useful, I won't count on him for anything./_

"You haven't changed a bit, have you? Still the same ancient mech with a spitfire temper."

_/Hmm. Are you sure you aren't describing yourself?/_

A gravelly laugh left the crimson mech as he stared out of the window towards the traffic on the ground. "I am far from old, Stormlancer. You have been around much longer than I have."

_/Sure, I have. But that makes me automatically older and wiser than you./_

"Watch your tone," the winged mech growled, tilting his helm to the side. "You always said our relationship was strained."

 _/And you are the one who listened to me./_ Stormlancer vented heavily, and there was a brief moment of silence. _/Are you at home?/_

Bloodstorm rolled his optics, his engines rumbling faintly. "Where else would I be?"

_/Ah...forget what I said. I will speak to Silverhearth and see if she is busy./_

Letting out a puff of air in irritation, the triple-changer frowned and clenched his servos into fists. His talons dug into the tender, still-healing scars that were left behind by past endeavors. "Speak plainly, mech."

 _/I just said I would talk to Silverhearth about it. Go bother Darkblade if you want to talk some more./_ Before Bloodstorm could react, the other mech had ended the communications link and left him sitting in silence.

* * *

_"The truth is, every monster you have met or will ever meet, was once a human being with a soul that was as soft and light as silk. Someone stole that silk from their soul and turned them into this. So when you see a monster next, always remember this. Do not fear the thing before you. Fear the thing that created it." ~Nikita Gill_

* * *

He was created to strip every last one of them of their breath, and to destroy those things that could be considered beautiful. His purpose was to burn them all down. Burn them all down to the ground until nothing remained but their smoldering ashes.

His mission was to bring the world to its knees and to hear his designation spoken only in trembling and fearful murmurs.

He was created to be a monster.

To be a monster, he had to research, to delve deep into the farthest recesses of his mind and of those cheerful minds around him. He had had to break them down into their simplest components to understand how they worked and what made them tick—which could mean literally or metaphorically, depending on his mood.

The taste of the grime on the harsh metallic earth beneath him was ever-present in the back of his mouth, a bitter and wretched, acidic remnant of what the world used to be like before the otherworldly being—Primus—had decided to set foot on their home planet.

 _Your creativeness knows no bounds, monster,_ he thought quietly to himself as he paced the length of the alleyway. _You created this world if only for one single purpose_ _—to fuel your excessive ego._

He licks the Energon from his sharpened talons, a deep rumble of content thundering within his chassis. He looked on in satisfaction, moving carefully as to not draw further attention to himself. The Praxian's wings were held high, displaying his dominance and the need for absolute and divine control.

_Do not think for one moment that you are safe. Do not think that your praise will protect you from me._

_Do not think that I will hesitate to stain my mouth with your blood._

Crimson optics burning dangerously bright, the mech growled and clenched his servos into fists. He did not like this feeling. He did not like losing control over his emotions.

"You make me feel," he hissed, softly and fiercely, digging his claws deep into the metallic flesh of his bound and gagged prey. "You make me feel, and I do not like it. Not one bit."

_Take it away. Take it all away._

The creator of their world was nothing but a mere lie. A pure fallacy that fueled the wants and needs of the fanatical many.

_I have seen the fall of our world. I have heard the screams of the dying and have devoured the souls of their livestock._

_I have feasted on their internals and drunk the blood of kings._

"But, my dear mech," he murmured as he circled the lifeless corpse. "There is order in the belly of chaos."

Primus was a myth. There was no divine force or presence that created something out of nothing. The divine mechs and femmes, the ones with the apparent mental ability to see into the future, were nothing more than thieves and liars that feasted on the brainchild of the needy.

_You think you are as strong as me because the ground trembles beneath your feet and the slightest murmur from your throat cause the wind to scream? You think simply because you are larger than me that you hold power? Do not forget that inside this body, there lies an ancient and almighty soul as powerful as the ancient days that is ready to suck the life out of you._

He paused in his musings, draping his wings over the remnants of the terminated mech. Perhaps he was losing his hold on reality again. It wouldn't be the first time.

His wings twitched as a ringing sounded in his audial fin. Rumbling softly, he tilted his helm to the side and activated the hidden button.

 _/Brother, blue mech seems to go after the object of your desires./_ The soft, broken voice of his youngest echoed through his processor. _/Young One cannot find them on the cameras or the fields./_

"Young One, who showed you how to use the communication links?" the eldest Praxian demanded quietly, straightening to his full height and frowning slightly.

The little mech only giggled, high and lilting laughter that would have any normal mech shuddering in their armor. _/Little One knows the basics. No fancy calculations, just little things, like me. Brother, I want you back. You left without telling me./_

"I will return in due time, Young One," the Incarcerator murmured, his claws sinking into rotted metallic flesh with little resistance. "You must learn to be patient. I told you to work on that."

_/I don't wanna work on it. I want you here with me./_

Venting sharply, the Praxian flicked his wings and growled deeply. "Young One. Brother is busy with his work. He cannot come home right now."

_/The yellow mech and Big Brother fornicate in the halls, brother. Young One thought you ought to know./_

Prowl bared his dentia, optics narrowing to slits. "I specifically ordered Thunderstrike to be left alone and unbothered. Has he defied my orders?"

_/Mmm-hmm. Fornication comes into play very much, Big Brother. He likes the taste of insubordination./_

Letting out a heavy vent, the eldest Praxian fanned out his wings and headed for the back exit of the warehouse he was in. "Tell the pawns to await further orders. I will deal with Smokescreen when I return. And Young One—"

_/Hmm?/_

"—keep your servos off of Thunderstrike. He. Is. Mine."

_/Mmm-hmm. Okay, Big Brother! Young One hopes to see you soon!/_

Shutting off the link, Prowl turned one last time to gaze at his masterpiece.

_At last, the final piece falls into play._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized just a few hours ago (from the time I posted this chapter) that the preceding chapter was 7,802 words. Yes, I know this chapter is nowhere near as long, but I got what I wanted to out of the way.
> 
> There's a little insight to Stormlancer and his relationship with Bloodstorm and Jazz in this chapter. Let me know what you think about that.
> 
> The next chapter will have a bit of Silverhearth in it, but I'm going to start putting together the clues (can anyone guess how they line up?) and the ideology that Prowl has on the creation of the world. It's more important than you probably think right now. Leave your ideas in a review!
> 
> Note to Jazzilyn Hall: I know it seems that I've abandoned Sepulchral. And I want to express my humblest and deepest apologies for that. The last chapter is something I'm still working on because I'm trying to organize what I want to do exactly in order to wrap the entire story up. Basically, it covers part of Jazz's recovery and how Bloodstorm is dealing with it. So please, please, please don't hate me for that.
> 
> To the rest of you: review, review, review! :D


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